OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

°F 


A  Hermit  of  Carmel 


A  Hermit  of  Carmel 

And  Other  Poems 

By 

George  Santayana 


New  York 

Charles    Scribner's    Sons 
1901 


Copyright^  igoi 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October, 


UNIVERSITY    PRESS    •   JOHN   WILSON 
AND   SON     '     CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


52.33 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  HERMIT  OF  CARMEL 3 

THE  KNIGHT'S   RETURN.    A  Sequel  to  A  Hermit  of 

Carmel 45 

ELEGIAC  AND  LYRIC  POEMS 83 

Premonition &5 

Solipsism °7 

Sybaris 89 

Avila 94 

King's  College  Chapel 99 

On  an  Unfinished  Statue 107 

Midnight "2 

In  Grantchester  Meadows 114 

"Futility Il6 

Before  a  Statue  of  Achilles "7 

Odi  et  Amo I2° 

Cathedrals  by  the  Sea 122 

Mont  Brevent I23 

The  Rustic  at  the  Play 124 

Resurrection I25 


M565G45 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TRANSLATIONS 139 

From  Michael  Angelo 141 

-  From  Alfred  de  Musset :  Souvenir 144 

From  Theophile  Gautier :  L'Art 156 

CONVIVIAL  AND  OCCASIONAL  VERSES 161 

Prosit  Neujahr 163 

Fair  Harvard 164 

College  Drinking  Song 167 

Six  Wise  Fools 170 

Athletic  Ode 185 

The  Bottles  and  the  Wine 192 

The  Poetic  Medium 198 

Young  Sammy's  first  Wild  Oats 204 

Spain  in  America 216 

Youth's  Immortality 232 


A   HERMIT  OF   CARMEL 


A  HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

SCENE.  —  A  ravine  amid  the  slopes  of  Mount  CarmeL 
On  one  side  a  hermitage,  on  the  other  a  rustic 
cross.     The  sun  is  about  to  set  in  the  sea,  which 
fills  the  background. 

HERMIT.   Thou  who  wast  tempted  in  the  wilderness, 
Guard  me  this  night,  for  there  are  snares  in  sleep 
That  baffle  watching.     O  poisoned,  bitter  life 
Of  doubt  and  longing  !     Were  death  possible, 
Who  would  not  choose  it?     But  that  dim  estate 
Might  plunge  my  witless  ghost  in  grosser  matter 
And  in  still  closer  meshes  choke  my  life. 
Yet  thus  to  live  is  grievous  agony, 
When  sleep  and  thirst,  hunger  and  weariness, 
3 


4  A   HERMIT   OF  CARMEL 

And  the  sharp  goads  of  thought-awakened  lust 

Torture  the  flesh,  and  inward  doubt  of  all 

Embitters  with  its  lurking  mockery 

Virtue's  sad  victories.     This  wilderness 

Whither  I  fly  from  the  approach  of  men 

Keeps  not  the  devil  out.     The  treacherous  glens 

Are  full  of  imps,  and  ghosts  in  moonlit  vesture 

Startle  the  watches  of  the  lidless  night. 

The  giant  forest,  in  my  youth  so  fair, 

Is  now  a  den  of  demons  ;  the  hoarse  sea 

Is  foul  with  monsters  hungry  for  my  soul ; 

The  dark  and  pregnant  soil,  once  innocent 

Mother  of  flowers,  reeks  with  venomous  worms, 

And  sore  temptation  is  in  all  the  world. 

But  hist !  A  sound,  as  if  of  clanking  hoofs. 

Saint  Anthony  protect  me  from  the  fiend, 

Whether  he  come  in  guise  of  horned  beast 

Or  of  pernicious  man  !  If  I  must  die 

Be  it  upon  this  hallowed  ground,  O  Lord  ! 

\_Hides  in  the  hut. 


A    HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  5 

Enter  a  young  KNIGHT. 
KNIGHT  [reining  in  his  horse~\ . 
Rest,  Albus,  rest.  —  Doth  the  sun  sink  in  glory 

Because  he  sinks  to  rise  ?  — 
Breathe  here  a  space ;  here  bends  the  promontory, 

There  Acra's  haven  lies. 
Those  specks  are  galleys  waiting  for  the  gale 

To  make  for  Christian  shores. 
To-morrow  they  will  fly  with  bellying  sail 

And  plash  of  swinging  oars, 
Bearing  us  both  to  where  the  freeman  tills 

The  plot  where  he  was  born, 
And  belfry  answers  belfry  from  the  hills 

Above  the  fields  of  corn. 
Thence  one  less  sea  to  traverse  ere  we  come 

Where  all  our  hopes  abide, 
One  truant  journey  less  to  end  in  home, 

Thy  mistress,  and  my  bride.  [He  dismounts. 

Good  Albus,  't  is  enough  for  one  day's  riding. 

Here  shall  our  bivouac  be. 


6  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Surely  by  that  green  sward  some  brook  is  hiding 

To  welcome  thee  and  me. 

Yes,  hark  !  Its  laugh  betrays  it.     Graze  thou  there, 
Nor  fear  the  camp's  alarms. 

\Lets  the  horse  go  and  turns,  perceiving  the 

cross  on  the  hillside. 
See  where  a  cross,  inviting  me  to  prayer, 

Outspreads  its  sacred  arms. 
O  first  of  many  that  mine  eyes  shall  see 

On  altar,  tomb,  and  tower, 
Art  thou  the  last  of  crosses  come  to  me 

Before  my  guerdon's  hour  ? 
Or  first  or  last,  and  by  whatever  hands 

Here  planted  in  the  wild, 
Hail  to  thee,  cross,  that  blessest  in  far  lands 
Thy  champion  and  thy  child. 

[  Goes  up  to  the  cross  and  kneels  before  it. 
The  angel  of  the  Lord  appeared  to  Mary 
And  she  conceived  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

\Continues  silently. 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  7 

HERMIT   {from  within}. 

All 's  quiet.     God  hath  made  the  danger  pass. 

\_Comes  out. 

Nay,  hold  !  A  horse  without  a  rider  here  ? 
Perchance  a  devil,  come,  if  I  should  mount  him, 
To  gallop  with  me  into  yawning  hell. 
Yet  he  looks  gentle,  munching  the  young  grass, 
The  tempting  bridle  looped  about  his  neck. 
I  will  go  catch  him.     When  the  traders  pass  — 
And  they  pass  after  Christmas  —  I  will  barter 
The  beast  for  a  good  cloak.     The  winter's  blasts 
Are  on  us. 
KNIGHT.  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord. 

Be '/  done  to  me  according  to  thy  word  — 

[  Co  n  tin  ues  sile  n  tly. 
HERMIT.    A  voice  !  A  Christian  voice  !  Some  winged 

angel 

Floats  through  the  ether,  magnifying  God. 
Merciful  heaven  !  There,  ay,  there  he  kneels 
Before  the  cross  I  planted.     'T  is  the  cross 


8  A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL 

That    to    earth   brings   down    heaven.      Yes,    Saint 

Michael, 

For  he  is  clad  in  arms,  and  his  casque  fringed 
With  the  bright  nimbus  of  his  golden  hair. 
Yet  he  seems  wingless ;  if  he  stirs  a  limb 
The  heavy  armour  clangs.     No  angel,  surely ; 
Rather  Saint  George,  with  steed  and  magic  lance 
Returned  to  fight  against  the  infidel. 
KNIGHT.   And  the   Word  was  made  flesh  and  dwelt 

among  us.  [Continues  silently. 

HERMIT.    Listen !  they  speak  my  native    tongue   in 

heaven. 

Those  are  the  words  my  sainted  mother  spake  — 
Nightly  she  crooned  them,  teaching  Palmerin 
His  orisons.  [The  KNIGHT  rises. 

Come,  shall  I  challenge  him? 
No  :  I  am  foul.     I  will  hide  crouching  here 
And  spy  him  as  he  goes. 
KNIGHT.  What  stirreth  there  ? 

[Pushes  a  branch  aside. 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  < 

HERMIT  \falling  on  his  knees~\. 

Have  mercy,  glorious  Saint !  a  sinful  man 

Lives  in  this  hovel ;  no  man's  enemy 

Except  his  own.     Sir,  spare  an  anchorite. 

KNIGHT.  Fear  nothing,  holy  man.     I  am  a  Christian 

Although  no  saint,  but  sinful  more  than  thou 

Who  in  the  desert  livest  near  to  God. 

My  sword  is  stained  with  blood,  my  heart  is  rash, 

And  if  my  youth  is  free  from  foul  dishonour 

T  is  God's  good  mercies  hedge  my  wayward  days 

And  marvellously  guide  me  through  the  world. 

But  thou  art  surely  wise.     In  solitude 

The  mind  of  the  Most  High  possesseth  men, 

And  they  whom  sorrow  chaseth  from  the  world 

Learn  in  their  grief  the  purposes  of  heaven. 

God's  hand  appears  in  this,  that  here  I  find  thee 

To  shrive  me,  father.     Many  months  I  roam 

Through  heathen  wilds  in  sorry  need  of  shrift. 

Who  knows  if  in  some  luckless  fray  to-morrow 

I  bite  the  dust,  or  in  that  golden  sea 


io  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Perish  unknelled  and  far  from  Christendom  ? 
A  soldier's  soul  should  be  like  his  bright  blade 
Ready  to  unsheathe. 

HERMIT.  O  music  of  high  thoughts ! 

O  harmony  of  long-forgotten  words  ! 
Fair  visitation  !     In  her  youth  the  soul, 
Gathering  the  heavy  heritage  of  Adam, 
Looks  with  strange  horror  on  her  own  abyss 
And  on  the  stars,  and  her  increasing  knowledge 
Ever  increaseth  sorrow ;  yet  with  years, 
Touching  the  depths  and  wholly  mortified, 
She  sees  her  desert  bloom  with  mystic  flowers 
And  sweeter  smiles  of  God.     O  mortal  bosom 
Both  in  foreboding  and  in  hope  beguiled  ! 
Not  where  I  fancied  in  my  night  of  trouble 
Dawns  comfort  on  mine  eyes,  but  wondrously. 
Whence  earnest  thou?     Tell  me  what  princely  house 
And  fruitful  country  bred  and  nurtured  thee. 
KNIGHT.    T  is  not  a  fruitful  land.    On  heathered  hills 
My  father  fed  his  flocks.     We  gazed  not  down 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  II 

On  vineyard  slopes  and  waters  blue  as  these 
But  there  a  sea  of  swaying  tree-tops  spread 
Boundless  beneath  us,  without  path  or  tower, 
Save  where  beside  the  river's  bend  the  monks 
Had  built  their  cells  and  cleared  the  wood  away. 
We  called  it  milking  time  when  we  could  hear 
The  distant  music  of  their  matin  chimes. 
HERMIT.    Be  your  monks  rich? 

KNIGHT.  Their  fields  are  ploughed  and  brown, 

But  the  poor  upland  shepherd  has  no  corn ; 
His  flock  must  feed  him  with  its  milk  and  flesh, 
Unless  he  snare  a  partridge  in  the  wood 
As  I  did  oft,  or  standing  in  the  brook 
Where  the  green  water  eddies  in  the  pool 
Enmesh  the  foolish  fishes. 
HERMIT.  Never  shepherd 

Could  bear  these  arms  or  show  this  courtesy. 
Where  wast  thou  bred,  if  thou  wast  born  a  hind, 
That  thou  art  gentle  ?     Who  hath  knighted  thee  ? 
KNIGHT.    The  Baron  of  the  Marches  is  my  liege  ; 


12  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

To  him  I  owe  my  nurture  and  my  sword, 

And  the  sweet  hope  that  leads  me. 

HERMIT.  Ah,  the  faith? 

KNIGHT.    Nay,  that    my  mother  gave    me  with  her 

prayers, 

Saintliest  of  women. 

HERMIT.  Thy  mother  and  my  own 

Were  then  alike.     Hast  thou  another  hope 
Sweeter  than  faith  to  thank  thy  master  for? 
KNIGHT.    He  hath  a  daughter  for  whose  hand  I  serve, 
Having  her  love ;  and  on  the  happy  night 
When  I  kept  vigil  o'er  the  virgin  arms 
In  which  I  should  be  knighted  at  the  dawn 
He  promised  me  her  hand,  if  I  proved  worthy 
In  five  years'  service.     At  the  morrow's  mass 
When  we  had  both  partaken  of  the  Lord, 
I  knelt  before  him,  and  while  all  his  vassals 
Stood  in  a  ring  about  us,  up  he  rose 
And  with  his  flat  sword  struck  my  shoulder  thus, 
Speaking  these  words,  now  graven  on  my  heart : 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  13 

"  Arise,  Sir  Knight,  to  battle  with  the  world 

For  God  and  honour.     If  in  youth  thou  fall, 

May  thy  bright  soul  take  instant  wing  to  heaven, 

But  if  thou  blazon  on  this  argent  shield 

Valorous  deeds,  and  come  in  safety  back, 

Thy  worth  shall  stand  in  lieu  of  ancient  blood, 

For  valour  was  the  first  nobility, 

And  with  the  blessing  of  a  hapless  man 

Whom  three  brave  sons,  reversing  nature's  sentence, 

Condemned  to  mourn  them,  I  will  then  deliver 

My  daughter  to  thy  hands.     She  and  her  honour, 

My  lands,  my  castle,  and  my  name  be  thine." 

Love  is  the  hope,  sweeter  than  faith  in  heaven, 

For  which  I  toil  in  arms. 

Enough  of  that. 

Methinks  thou  art  a  priest,  and  ere  I  leave  thee 
I  fain  would  make  confession  of  what  sins 
Lie  on  my  soul. 

HERMIT.  God  knoweth  what  they  are, 

And  hath,  methinks,  forgiven  them  already, 


14  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

For  by  the  candour  of  thy  looks  I  know 

Thou  livest  in  his  grace.     But  tell  them  o'er, 

For  by  the  speaking  of  a  word  the  heart 

Is  lightened  of  its  burden  :  and  the  Lord 

Commissioned  us  to  listen  in  his  name 

To  all  men's  woes,  and  counsel  and  forgive. 

Therefore  say  on. 

KNIGHT.  Alas,  where  all  is  frail 

I  know  not  with  what  sorrow  to  begin. 

If  I  could  keep  the  thought  of  God  alive 

I  might  live  better ;  but  my  wit  is  loose 

And  wanders  into  silly  dreams  awake, 

All  to  no  purpose.     Everything  that  stirs 

Sets  me  athinking  of  its  life  and  ways 

And  I  forget  my  own.     If  a  frog  jump, 

Or  busy  squirrel  run  across  my  path, 

Or  three  sad  crows  fly  cawing  through  the  wood, 

Or  if  I  spy  a  fox's  trail,  or  print 

Of  deer's  foot  in  the  mould  —  off  go  my  thoughts 

And  I  am  many  leagues  in  fairyland 


A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL  15 

Before  I  shake  away  the  lethargy 

And  say  to  my  weak  soul,  Thou  art  a  knight, 

What  hast  thou  done  to-day? 

HERMIT.  Be  these  thy  sins? 

KNIGHT.    Nay,  not  the  chief.     For  in  all  exercise, 

Or  when  in  any  test  or  feat  of  arms 

I  meet  another,  not  the  worthy  cause, 

The  thought  of  God,  my  liege,  or  beauteous  mistress 

Strengthens  my  arm,  but  the  mere  rage  and  pride 

Of  the  encounter  sweeps  my  soul  along, 

And  win  I  must,  whatever  goal  it  be, 

When  I  am  once  engaged.     That 's  in  the  blood. 

So  were  our  heathen  fathers  wont  to  fight 

Merciless  battles.     But  glory  is  the  Lord's 

Who  metes  with  measure.     Still  I  stumble  there. 

And  envy,  too,  I  often  sin  in  that, 

For  from  my  childhood  up  I  never  brooked 

A  swifter  runner,  or  a  quicker  eye 

To  hit  the  mark,  and  what  another  does 

Better  than  I,  that  still  I  strive  to  do 


16  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Till  he  be  worsted.     Else  I  cannot  sleep. 

HERMIT.    Thou  knowest,  child,  that  victory  is  God's 

To  give  and  to  deny.     He  gives  it  thee  : 

'T  is  proof  of  thy  deserving.     Use  it  well, 

Which  if  thou  do,  to  crave  the  victory 

In  thee,  a  soldier,  is  no  grievous  sin. 

But  hast  thou  not  more  special  sins  than  these, 

No  wrong,  no  murder? 

KNIGHT.  Murder  have  I  none, 

If  murder  be  to  kill  a  man  by  stealth 

Or  in  a  private  quarrel,  but  in  war 

I  oft  have  slain  my  man.     I  wear  a  sword 

Though  nature  gave  me  not  a  butcher's  hand 

That  loves  to  use  it.  —  Oh,  't  is  marvellous 

How  men  will  slaughter  for  the  sake  of  blood, 

And  Christians  too.     Before  I  crossed  the  sea, 

The  Margrave  fought  a  battle  in  the  north 

Against  the  heathen.    I  then  followed  him, 

And  when  the  fight  was  over  and  the  foe, 

Routed,  had  fled  into  a  deep  morass 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  17 

Black  'neath  the  splendours  of  a  fiery  sky, 

The  bugle  called  us  back  :   and  back  I  rode, 

My  shield  slung  on  my  back,  my  visor  up, 

Saying  the  Angelus,  such  peace  there  was 

Beneath  the  twilight  heavens,  when  a  groan 

That  seemed  the  ending  of  a  soul  in  pain 

Made  me  look  down ;  there  lay  a  heathen  knight, 

And  on  his  wounded  breast  a  Christian  crouched, 

Stabbing  him  still ;  I  snatched  the  villain's  sword, 

But  just  in  time,  and  seized  him  by  the  throat 

Amazed,  and  loud  with  oaths ;  ".Thou  slave,"  quoth  I, 

"  Why  wilt  thou  send  a  valiant  soul  to  hell, 

That  might  be  saved  for  heaven  ?   The  man  is  mine. 

Take  thou  his  armour,  if  some  happy  chance 

Have  made  thee  victor.     But  outrage  not  the  cause 

Which  thou  wouldst  well  defend."     We  stripped  the 

man, 

Whose  gaping  wounds  were  deep  and  hard  to  staunch 
With  the  few  strips  remaining  of  my  tunic 
Torn  in  the  fight ;  and  as  he  could  not  sit, 


18  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

We  needs  must  lift  and  bear  him  in  our  arms 

Back  to  the  camp.     He  was  a  knight  indeed, 

And  when,  his  fever  passing,  I  explained 

Our  holy  faith  —  (our  chaplains  spoke  not  well 

His  northern  tongue)  —  he  listened  open-eyed 

As  a  child  might,  and  when  I  stopped  and  asked, 

"  Dost  thou  believe?  "  he  gazed  and  said  :  "  I  do. 

As  thou  believest,  so  in  life  and  death 

Will  I  believe."  —  So  humble  was  his  soul 

And  open  to  the  sudden  grace  of  heaven. 

Yet  him  my  Christian  ruffian  would  have  slain 

To  see  the  red  blood  ooze.  T  is  pitiful ! 

And  yet  I  do  him  wrong.     The  fellow  came 

The  morning  after,  shy,  with  heavy  looks, 

And  said  he  begged  to  bring  the  armour  back. 

It  was  not  his,  he  had  not  felled  the  knight 

But  found  him  on  the  ground ;  and  when  I  bade  him 

Retain  the  proffered  sword,  to  use  it  better, 

He  sobbed  aloud,  and  bathed  my  hands  in  tears, 

So  hearty  was  his  grief.  —  But  I  confess 


A   HERMIT    OF    CARMEL  19 

Another's  sins,  good  father,  and  forget 
My  own,  which  I  should  tell  of. 
HERMIT.  Trouble  not 

To  tell  them  over,  for  I  know  them  now. 
They  are  the  same  which  seen  in  other  men 
The  world  calls  virtues.     But  one  vice  there  is 
Which  noblest  natures  in  their  youth  are  prone  to. 
Hast  thou  offended  against  chastity? 
KNIGHT.     Ah,  father,  I  am  guilty  too  in  that, 
If  whosoever  looketh  on  a  woman 
Unholily,  already  hath  committed 
Adultery  in  his  heart.     'T  is  in  my  thoughts, 
Perhaps,  that  I  have  sinned ;   but  I  am  young, 
And  have  from  childhood  loved  one  noble  maid. 
All  other  faces  are  but  mirrors  to  me 
Of  what  she  is  in  truth.     When  others  smile 
And  seem  to  say  that  haply  they  could  love  me, 
My  heart  yearns  to  them,  yet  its  yearning  goes 
Like  incense  past  a  picture,  to  her  spirit. 
They  are  memorials  of  her  I  review 


20  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

To  make  me  constant.     Nay,  but  that 's  not  all. 

A  heavy  season  comes,  —  I  know  not  whether 

At  waxing  or  at  waning  of  the  moon,  — 

When  but  the  babble  of  a  girlish  voice 

Heard  from  a  window,  or  a  hand  stretched  forth, 

Or  a  chance  motion,  stops  the  beating  heart 

Here  in  my  breast,  and  melts  my  very  soul, 

And  I  stand  there  bewitched,  my  brain  benumbed, 

And  nothing  in  me  but  the  fell  desire 

To  do   I    know   not   what. — 'Tis    dreams,  dreams, 

dreams, 

And  they  are  evil,  treacherous,  and  base 
When  they  come  so.     One  day  on  every  side 
They  girt  me  round.    I  cried  to  them  "  For  shame  !  " 
They  would  not  go  nor  quit  tormenting  me 
Till  I  put  spurs  into  my  steed,  and  rode, 
Rode   with    clenched    teeth,    hacking    all    branches 

off 

Within  my  axe's  compass.     When  I  stopped 
My  soul  was  free  :  "  We  have  outridden  them, 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  21 

Albus,"  I  cried,  "  the  demons  of  that  place 

Of  foul  enchantment !  Here  's  the  blue  again 

Smiling  upon  us,  God,  and  all  his  saints." 

Father,  methinks  the  agony  of  death 

May  happen  so.     A  stifling  darkness  comes 

Upon  the  feeble  soul,  and  doubtfully 

She  keeps  her  strength  alive  on  far-off  hopes 

In  that  great  stress  of  anguish.     But  it  passes 

And  slowly  we  awake  in  paradise. 

HERMIT.    In  paradise,  my  son,  when  thou  awakest 

If  I  still  suffer  in  the  lake  of  fire 

Make  me  some  prayerful  alms,  who  in  the  name 

Of  God,  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost 

Absolve  thee  now. 

KNIGHT.  And  for  my  penance,  father, 

What  lay  you  on  ? 

HERMIT.  Three  Aves  for  three  days 

Say  for  the  soul  of  one  unlike  thyself 

Though  of  thy  country.     Robbers  bore  him  thence 

Into  their  kingdoms.     Hast  thou  never  heard 


22  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Tell  of  the  hordes  that  ravaged  Christendom 

Ere  thou  wast  born,  belike. 

KNIGHT.  Nay,  I  remember. 

'T  was  then  my  mother  brought  me  from  the  hills 

To  dwell  beside  the  castle,  for  the  Huns 

Had  slain  my  father  and  my  elder  brother 

And  driven  the  sheep  away. 

HERMIT.  The  Huns?  The  Huns? 

KNIGHT.  Ay,  when  they  ravaged  all  the  land  about 

Upon  their  western  march. 

HERMIT.  They  slew  thy  brother  ? 

Thou  sawest  his  body? 

KNIGHT.  Nay,  we  saw  it  not. 

We  fled,  and  many  fearful  weeks  were  past 

Ere  we  returned  to  search. 

HERMIT.  The  Lord  is  great. 

Thy  brother's  name  was  — 

KNIGHT.  Damian. 

HERMIT.  God  of  mercies, 

What  shall  become  of  us  ! 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  23 

KNIGHT.  Thy  gaze  is  fixed. 

What  ails  thee  ?     Rest  thee  there. 

HERMIT.  I  cannot  speak. 

I  faint.     Since  dawn  I  have  not  tasted  food. 

A  draught !  A  morsel !     Ah,  my  end  is  near. 

KNIGHT.  I  have  a  panier  by  my  saddle-bow 

With  food.  — Albus  has  wandered  down  the  glade. — 

I  shall  be  here  anon.  [Exif. 

HERMIT.  What  bodes  this  portent? 

My  practised  soul  well  knows  the  things  of  earth, 

And  there  is  none  like  this.     Impossible. 

This  is  some  essence  metaphysical, 

And  not  the  thing  it  seems.     So  much  is  sure ; 

But  whether  fiend  or  minister  of  grace 

How  shall  I  know?     Is  he  a  subtle  demon 

And  wins  my  ear?     I  am  the  devil's  pawn. 

Is  he  an  angel  and  I  put  him  by? 

Then  I  am  damned  for  that.     xA.ll  other  sins 

Shall  be  forgiven,  save  such  blasphemy 

Against  the  Holy  Ghost.     And  being  dead 


24  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Might  not  my  brother's  spirit  come  from  heaven? 

And  though  I  be  unworthy  in  my  sins 

Of  saintly  visitation,  I  believe 

This  vision  is  from  God.     'T  is  beautiful 

And  clothed  in  Christian  speech  and  charity. 

Was  not  Mount  Carmel,  Lord,  thy  haunt  of  old 

Where  men  went  up  to  meet  thee  ?     Show  thy  face. 

The  Apostles  at  Emmaus  knew  the  Lord 

When  he  broke  bread.     Blind  heart,  an  angel  comes 

To  sup  with  thee  to-night.     Misknow  him  not. 

The  ravens  of  Elijah,  who  were  black, 

Came  from  the  Lord,  and  Raphael  himself 

Who  led  the  lost  Tobias  by  the  hand 

Was  black  beside  this  vision's  loveliness. 

Yea,  by  its  glory  pale  the  three  bright  strangers 

That  from  the  desert  came  to  Abraham's  tent 

In  figure  of  the  blessed  Trinity.  — 

What  am  I  raving?     Am  I  Abraham, 
Tobias,  or  Elijah,  that  the  gods 
Should  visit  me?     Did  not  the  artful  devil 


A   HERMIT    OF   CARMEL  25 

Come  to  Saint  Anthony  in  beauteous  form? 

When  first  this  ghost  approached  I  dreaded  him,  — 

A  certain  sign.     Yet  by  his  subtle  wiles, 

Flattering  my  earthly  hopes,  he  vanquished  me 

And  quieted  my  doubts  —  as  if  Beelzebub 

Could  not  feign  piety  to  murder  souls ! 

What,  my  young  brother,  whom  I  counted  dead, 

Found  in  this  shape,  a  knight,  a  Paladin, 

A  vision  such  as  minstrels  sing  about  ? 

Palpable  lie,  abominable  snare 

The  demon  mocks  me  with  !     Let  me  but  cry, 

"  I  am  thy  brother,  I  am  Damian," 

Let  me  but  clasp  his  knees  and  with  a  flood 

Of  joyful  penitential  childish  tears 

Water  his  feet,  and  then  look  up  again 

To  drink  the  grace  of  his  benignant  eyes 

And  by  his  kiss  be  healed  in  soul  and  body, 

And  I  shall  see  the  grinning  demon's  self 

And  feel  that  icy  manacle,  his  claw, 

Clasping  my  wrist  for  ever.     "  Thou  art  damned, 


26  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Damned,"  shrieks  the  fiend,  "  damned  in  believing 

lies, 

Damned  in  renouncing  for  a  dreamful  joy 
Thy  solitude  and  penance.     Thou  art  damned." 
Yes,  't  is  a  hellish  plot  confronts  me  here. 
A  knight,  my  brother,  come  to  comfort  me  ! 
T  is  madness  and  wild  dreams.  —  Again  he  comes. 
His  gesture  says,  Here  's  food.     Pitiful  heaven, 
Assist  me  now.     Let  me  not  now  be  lost. 
Suffer  my  vigils  and  perpetual  fasts 
To  strengthen  my  resolve.     To  be  so  happy 
Were  rash,  and  ah,  how  vain  !    To  drown  their  sorrow 
Fools  barter  heaven  for  a  drunkard's  joy. 

Re-enter  KNIGHT. 
KNIGHT.     Drink   this.    'Tis   water   from    the   virgin 

springs 

Of  Carmel,  pure  and  cold.     Stains  of  the  world 
That  leave  the  heavens  clean  leave  earth's  own  heart 
Immaculate.     'T  is  but  her  outer  garment 
That  man  and  roving  beast  avail  to  smear. 


A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL  27 

The  curse  of  Adam  stops  at  living  things 

And  Nature  sleeps  untainted.     There  is  healing 

In  such  a  fountain  draught.     Taste  of  this  bread. 

Acorns  I  also  bring  and  well-dried  figs. 

Take  freely :  there  is  plenteous  store  for  both. 

For  often  as  I  ride  a  village  through 

Or  tighten  as  I  start  from  hostelries 

My  horse's  girth,  the  hospitable  dame 

Or  her  young  daughter  brings  me  something  forth 

From  the  rich  larder,  now  a  loaf  or  fowl 

And  now  a  goat-skin  full  of  seasoned  wine. 

God  prompts   their  kindly  hearts  and   makes    them 

bounteous 

Lest  my  strength  fail  me  ere  my  journey's  end, 
Who  knows  how  distant  yet.  —  Come,  break  thy  fast. 
Remember,  father,  this  is  Christmas  Eve 
When  angels,  joining  in  the  songs  of  earth, 
Make  mortals  joyful,  knowing  their  painful  flesh 
Allied  to  deity. 
HERMIT.  I  crave  no  food. 


28  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

KNIGHT.   Nay,  nay,  thy  faintness  called  for  it  but  now. 
HERMIT.   Not  hunger  gave  that  cry  but  wonderment. 
KNIGHT.   At  my  poor  brother's  name  ? 
HERMIT.  Thy  brother  lives. 

KNIGHT.    Where?     Dost   thou   know  him?     In  this 

Holy  Land? 

HERMIT.   Poor  Damian  of  the  Marches  !  Verily 
His  sins  are  scarlet.     Pray  for  him,  fair  Knight, 
But  seek  not  to  discover  his  abode. 
If  thou  should  st  find  him  he  would  die  of  shame 
For  bringing  shame  upon  thee. 
KNIGHT.  Hast  thou  seen  him 

Or  is  it  slander  of  a  gossip's  mouth 
That  now  usurps  thy  tongue  ?     If  he  be  fallen 
He  hath  the  greater  need  of  charity 
And  some  late  succour. 

HERMIT.  Through  long  wanderings 

We  never  once  were  parted.  In  his  youth 
I  deemed  him  honest,  loved  him  as  myself, 
Nor  doubted  he  should  richly  thrive  and  prosper 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  29 

Amongst  the  sons  of  men.     But  day  by  day 

The  hand  of  opportunity  unmasked 

The  sleeping  guilt  within.     Envy  and  greed, 

Pitiless  malice,  pride,  and  wantonness 

Started  like  lion's  cubs  that  scent  their  prey 

And  roared  increasingly.     Time  drew  aside 

Veil  after  veil  that  cloaked  his  villainy, 

Till  looking  on  his  stark  and  naked  soul 

I  stood  aghast  and  trembled. 

KNIGHT.  God,  that  made  us, 

Engraved  his  sacred  image  in  our  hearts 

Deeper  than  cruel  eyes  may  boast  to  pierce. 

Has  not  my  brother  too  a  priceless  soul 

For  which  Christ  died  ?     Did  God  not  ransom  it  ? 

Yes,  I  will  find  him,  lift  him  to  my  breast 

And  say,  "  Forget  the  past.    Thy  home  is  here." 

HERMIT.  Beware  !  Didst  thou  embrace  him  he  would 

die, 

And  he  hath  grievous  penance  yet  to  do 
Ere  he  be  ripe  for  heaven.     In  purgatory 


30  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

The  pains  are  doubly  sharp  and  manifold 

With  which  our  guilt  is  cleansed.     Forbear  to  search. 

KNIGHT.  This  ministration  is  a  task  that  heaven 

Now  lays  upon  me.     Hinder  not  his  weal. 

What  better  battle  could  approve  my  courage 

Than  in  a  brother's  soul  to  fight  despair? 

If  I  could  bring  that  brother  back  to  life 

Long  dead  to  me,  and  dead,  it  seems,  to  God, 

Were  Jt  not  a  deed  of  Christian  chivalry 

To  win  my  lady  by?    Father,  I  pray  thee, 

Where  is  my  brother  now? 

HERMIT.  A  mystery 

Enshrouds  his  penance.    Vain  to  question  more. 

A  secret  vow  on  which  salvation  hangs 

Lies  between  him  and  all  men. 

KNIGHT.  Marvellous ! 

Where  hath  he  roamed,  what  nameless  sin  committed 

That  I  may  not  embrace  him  ? 

HERMIT.  Listen,  Knight, 

For  I  may  tell  thee  that ;  and  when  thou  knowest 


A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL  31 

The  sins  he  shrives  and  what  his  penance  is, 

Assist  him  with  thy  charitable  prayers 

To  bear  his  cross,  but  lift  it  not  away, 

For  with  it  goes  his  hope  of  paradise. 

KNIGHT.    There  is  indeed  some  mystery  in  this. 

The  pain  of  it  doth  weigh  upon  thy  soul 

Even  in  the  telling. 

HERMIT.  Did  his  own  pale  lips 

Read  from  the  branded  tablets  of  his  heart 

The  record  of  his  sorrows,  they  could  never 

More  truly  speak  than  I,  for  all  his  woes 

I  knew,  and  inly  felt  them  as  my  own. 

Would  that  some  ruffian  knife  had  gashed  his  throat 

On  that  foul  day  of  slaughter,  when  thy  mother 

Bore  thee  afar  to  safety.     Ah,  how  near 

Salvation  hung  that  day  above  his  head  ! 

But  wondrously,  as  Isaac  once  was  spared, 

Some  voice  he  heard  not  stayed  the  murderous  hand, 

Then  dealing  death  abroad  ;  and  from  that  mercy 

The  dreadful  brood  of  all  his  torments  sprang. 


32  A   HERMIT  OF  ^CARMEL 

They  bound  his  wrists  with  painful  twisted  thongs 
And  drove  him  with  the  flocks  and  captive  women 
Into  their  camp,  across  the  smouldering  heaps 
Of  burning  rubbish  and  through  sulphurous  fumes. 
That  night  he  found  him  tied  behind  a  cart  — 
The  crawling  palace  of  that  savage  chief 
Whose  greed  had  saved  him.     Shivering  he  stood, 
For   they    had   stripped   him,  through  the  starlight 

hours, 

And  found  no  piteous  orb  less  bright  above  him 
For  looking  on  his  grief.     Alas,  his  soul 
Entered  that  night  into  the  maze  of  hell. 
For  gazing  on  those  stars  and  on  the  corpses 
Of  all  he  loved  and  knew,  mangled  and  bare, 
Upbraiding  heaven  with  their  lidless  eyes, 
And  heaven's  eyes  still  smiling  back  at  them, 
He  said  to  his  cold  heart,  "  There  is  no  God." 
And  when  the  rosy  dawn  with  jocund  seeming 
Gilded  the  valley  as  if  naught  had  chanced, 
He,  like  the  morning,  banished  grief  and  love, 


A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL  33 

And  in  his  vain  and  cruel  heart  repeating 
"  There  is  no  God,"  arose  to  greet  the  sun. 
They  took  him  to  a  village  by  a  stream, 
And  in  the  market  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
A  long-robed  man,  who  stroked  thy  brother's  hair  — 
'T  was  flaxen  then  and  silken  as  thy  own  — 
And  chuckled  as  he  hurried  him  away 
Into  a  galley,  by  the  margin  moored. 
They  voyaged  long,  until  they  reached  a  vast 
And  splendid  city.     Egypt's  sunken  shore 
Stretches  behind  it,  and  before  its  walls 
Pharos,  by  day  a  pillar  and  by  night 
A  flaming  beacon,  greets  the  mariner. 
'T  is  Satan's  capital.     If  holy  men 
Have  dwelt  within  it,  teaching  all  the  Church, 
That  was  of  old.     Now  Saracens  and  Jews 
Possess  it  wholly.     There  no  Christian  thrives, 
But  every  monstrous  and  lascivious  crime 
Findeth  a  palace  or  a  den  to  hide  it. 
There  did  thy  brother  waste  his  youth,  a  slave, 
3 


34  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

And  no  unwilling  service  did  he  render 

To  every  base  command.     His  shepherd's  skin, 

Ruddy   with   mountain    suns,   they    smoothed    with 

unguents, 

And  bleached  in  pillared  courts ;  they  shaved  his  hair, 
Forbade  him  labour,  save  to  hold  a  torch 
While  his  young  masters  read,  or  at  the  banquet 
To  mix  the  lucent  sherbets  with  the  snows 
Of  Sinai's  deepest  gorge,  or  in  the  censer 
To  drop  large  incense-grains.     He  learned  to  sing 
What  songs  of  wine  their  ribald  poets  penned, 
And  all  the  witch  of  Lesbos  raved  of  love. 
The  lute  and  timbrel  in  his  skilful  hands 
They  loved  to  place ;  oft  in  their  languid  souls 
His  wild  chant  roused  some  savage  memory 
And  their  hearts  leapt  like  leopards  in  the  night 
That  prowl  through  broad  Sahara.     His  delight 
Was  henceforth  the  choice  morsel,  the  fat  fee, 
The  subtle  theft.     He  brought  the  gossip  home 
From  the  loud  market,  lest  his  lord  should  yawn 


A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL  35 

The  morning  long  beneath  the  barber's  hands, 
Nor  praise  his  wit  and  to  the  tittering  group 
Repeat  his  story.     In  the  brothel  streets 
He  ran  sly  errands,  nor  escaped  in  fear 
If  as  he  passed  some  wife  of  Potiphar 
Plucked  at  his  tunic.     His  best  art  it  was 
To  know  the  cunning  mixture  of  good  wines 
And  poisons  too,  if  some  adulterous  slave 
Or  long-lived  uncle  or  importunate  brother 
Needed  a  poison. —  Close  about  his  soul 
This  bitter  flood  of  luxury  crept  up 
Until  it  choked  him.     He  forgot  the  past 
And  blushed  to  be  a  Christian.     Their  vain  prayers 
He  learned  to  mutter,  and  was  circumcised. 
Thrice  in  the  day,  and  dawn  and  noon  and  eve, 
He  washed  his  feet  and  hands,  a  foolish  rite 
That  left  the  soul  still  foul.     Twice  seven  devils 
Lodged  in  his  body  and  tormented  him, 
And  lust  pursued  him  when  all  ways  of  lust 
Were  stale  and  sickened. 


36  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

But  there  came  an  end. 
For  by  the  flesh  as  he  had  chiefly  sinned, 
So  in  the  flesh  he  had  his  punishment. 
Ulcers  and  boils,  to  make  another  Job, 
Thickened  upon  him,  and  his  beauty  gone, 
They  drove  him  like  a  pest  from  all  their  gates 
Among  the  lepers.     Then  he  called  on  God. 
Then  he  remembered  all  he  once  had  heard 
But  understood  not  touching  Calvary ; 
And  rising  up,  all  naked  as  he  was, 
He  plucked  the  stout  stem  of  a  bramble-bush 
To  be  his  palmer's  staff,  and  with  a  rag 
That  once  had  been  the  blanket  of  a  mule 
Girded  his  loins,  and  stalked  into  the  wild. 
KNIGHT.    And  whither,  father,  whither  did  he  go  ? 
HERMIT.    Mount  Sinai  first  received  him,  on  whose 

crests 

The  Lord  in  the  beginning  reared  his  throne, 
And  from  whose  spurs  and  watered  crevices 
The  children  of  Saint  Anthony  for  ever 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  37 

Pour  praise  and  supplication.     There  he  dwelt, 

Recalling  to  his  troubled  memory 

The  precepts  of  the  faith ;  but  from  those  haunts 

He  journeyed  soon  to  deeper  solitudes. 

KNIGHT.    Then  he  repented  and  is  surely  saved  ? 

HERMIT.    God  grant  it,  son,   God  grant  it   for   thy 

sake. 

'T  is  not  a  day  can  change  the  heart  of  man, 
Though  grace  doth  much.     The  ancient  demons  lurk 
Still  in  their  dark  recesses,  and  at  night, 
Or  in  the  idle  moments  when  the  soul 
Breathes  'mid  her  travail,  suddenly  assail. 
In  the  vast  wilderness  the  starving  eye 
Spies  many  shapes  that  feed  its  lust.     To  me 
The  buzz  of  bees,  the  lizard's  sunny  sleep, 
The  snake's  lithe  coils  are  full  of  languishment. 
Oh,  how  the  base  blood  then  assaults  the  heart 
Crying,  "  Fool,  fool,  what  were  the  life  of  heaven 
Unless  in  heaven  too  the  sun  were  warm 
And  the  blood  rose  and  all  the  passions  flared, 


38  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Even  as  in  worms  compact  of  earth  and  fire 
That  lecherously  writhe?     Their  goads  and  stings 
Are  in  thy  flesh,  why  not  their  ravishment  ?  " 

They  are  strange  shapes  the  devil  sometimes  takes. 
There  was  a  vine  that  crept  along  this  wall, 
Ancient  and  knotted ;  far  its  branches  spread 
And  with  their  leafy  greenness  made  a  bower 
Over  my  cell.     The  juicy  clusters  hung 
Not  far  above  me,  and  the  little  birds 
Chirped  in  the  sun-flecked  tangle  all  day  long, 
Hopping  from  twig  to  twig  and  carolling. 
I  sat  and  listened,  and  methought  they  said : 
rt  Bad  hairy  man,  thou  only  in  this  world 
Repinest,  hater  of  thyself  and  us, 
Thou  art  all  nature's  single  enemy." 
And  with  a  doubt  that  cleft  my  heart  in  twain 
I  sat  and  pondered  what  they  sang  to  me. 
Then  I  looked  up  into  the  sunlit  maze 
Of  that  old  vine,  I  breathed  its  subtle  scent, 
I  watched  its  spotted  shadows  shift  and  change 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  39 

With  gusty  murmurous  tremblings  of  its  leaves 
And  eager  tendrils,  curling  through  the  air, 
Until  it  seemed  as  if  the  thing  had  life 
And  was  a  devil  stooping  over  me 
With  the  obsession  of  his  purring  breath 
Wooing  me  to  perdition.     But  I  laughed, 
For  I  had  dealt  with  imps  of  hell  before. 
I  searched  the  stubble  till  I  found  two  flints, 
Sharp  and  with  something  like  a  cross  upon  them, 
And  straight  about  the  vine's  outspreading  roots 
Began  to  dig.     A  week,  methinks,  I  dug 
With  secret  joy,  well  knowing  that  in  vain 
The  demon  thought  to  ripen  all  his  grapes. 
His  filthy  roots,  now  dangling  in  the  air, 
Dried  in  the  sun.     In  August  fell  the  leaves, 
And  the  dead  branches  with  the  autumn's  flaw 
Rotted  and  broke  ;  now,  see,  they  feed  my  fire. 
And  when  the  Spring  returns  no  silly  birds 
Will  fret  me  with  their  singing.     God  be  praise 
That  I  could  balk  that  devil :  long  he  mocked 


40  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

My  lonely  penance  with  his  evil  eye. 

But  others  come  anon ;  and  what  I  suffer 

T  is  very  like  thy  brother  suffers  too. 

KNIGHT.    I  cannot  think  so,  father.     Thou  art  weak 

And  long  hast  laid  the  hopes  of  youth  aside. 

Thou  canst  not  love.     My  brother  still  is  young  — 

HERMIT.   Alas,  if  grief  had  multiplied  his  years  ! 

KNIGHT.   He  yet  can  love,  and  any  natural  voice 

Of  wood  or  mountain,  or  perchance  my  own, 

Might  wake  in  him  another  better  life 

Of  peace  and  happy  hopes.     We  love  the  forest, 

We  who  were  nurtured  in  its  magic  depths. 

Oft  has  it  seemed  as  if  God  spoke  to  us 

In  the  low  voices  of  the  prayerful  boughs 

That  whisper  nighest  heaven. 

HERMIT.  This  false  world 

Is  naught,  my  son,  but  what  we  make  of  it. 

KNIGHT.   Then  I  must  think  my  brother  loves  the 

woods 
And  hears  God's  message  in  their  murmuring. 


A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL  41 

Had  he  dwelt  here,  a  hermit  like  thyself, 
He  would  have  suffered  that  old  vine  to  grow 
And  those  blithe  birds  to  sing.     'T  is  positive, 
Else  other  blood  than  mine  must  fill  his  veins. 
Oh,  I  will  find  him  yet.  —  I  leave  thee,  father. 
Thou  hast  with  heavy  tidings  and  great  hope 
Burdened  my  soul.     Now  I  must  journey  on. 
I  pray,  thy  blessing. 

HERMIT.  Kneel,  thou  happy  stranger, 

Kneel,  for  a  vision  comes  into  my  heart 
And  I  must  prophesy.     Thus  saith  the  Lord  : 
"  Thou  shalt  not  know  thy  brother  upon  earth ; 
My  will  forbids.     But  thou  shalt  pass  him  by, 
And  as  Saint  Peter's  shadow  healed  a  man, 
The  passing  of  thee,  by  my  grace  and  mercy, 
Shall  save  thy  brother's  soul."     This  comfort  take 
And  go  thy  ways. 

KNIGHT.  The  will  of  God  be  done. 

If  not  on  earth,  we  yet  may  meet  in  heaven. 
HERMIT.   God  grant  it. 


42  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

KNIGHT.  May  God  keep  thee. 

HERMIT.  Fare  thee  well. 

KNIGHT  [sings  as  he  goes] . 

The  star  stood  still  o'er  Bethlehem 
That  showed  the  wise  the  way, 
And  where  the  shepherds  sleeping  lay 
The  angels  sang  to  them  : 
Glory  be  to  God  on  high 
And  peace  on  earth  to  men. 

HERMIT.    Lord  of  Mount   Carmel,   hearken   to   my 
prayer. 

God  of  the  hills,  accept  my  sacrifice. 


THE   KNIGHT'S    RETURN 


THE  KNIGHT'S  RETURN 

A  SEQUEL  TO  A  HERMIT  OF  CARMEL 

SCENE. —  A  wooded  lawn  before  the  gate  of  a  castle. 
In  an  arbour  LADY  FLERIDA  and  NURSE  at  their 
handiwork. 

NURSE.   The  dews  will  soon  be  falling,  Flerida. 
Come  in,  sweet  lady. 

FLERIDA.  Hush  !  T  is  early  yet. 

NURSE.    'T  is  time,  methinks,  to  say  the  rosary. 
FLERIDA.    See  the  sun  hanging  o'er  the  darkened  hills 
Bright  as  the  Host  above  the  multitude 
Of  bending  worshippers  !     Tell  thy  beads  here, 
The  congregation  of  these  rustling  leaves 
Will  answer  all  thy  Aves  patiently. 
45 


46  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

NURSE.   I  Ve  dropped  a  stitch.    I  cannot  see  to  work 

'Neath  trellises.     These  gentlefolk  are  mad. 

The  mistress  of  a  castle  sits  without, 

Like  a  poor  homeless  beggar  ! 

FLERIDA.  Nay,  go  in 

And  burn  thy  rush-light  while  the  sun  is  shining, 

Or,  by  the  casement  squinting,  knit  thy  hose 

While  in  these  gilded  clouds  the  seraphim 

Are  singing  Glory.     Go,  I  follow  thee. 

NURSE  [getting  up  to  go] . 

Alack,  this  rheum.     Young  bones  will  brave  the  cold 

Till  the  twitch  comes.  —  Trust  me,  't  is  hazardous, 

Sweet  child,  to  tarry  here  beyond  the  moat 

Alone,  when  evening  falls.     Once  at  thy  age 

My  mother  sent  me  on  a  night  like  this 

To  good  old  Prior  Bennet,  at  Saint  Giles. 

He  was  her  uncle  and  a  saintly  man  — 

How  well  do  I  remember  his  grey  beard  !  — 

She  went  to  him  for  shrift,  and  on  that  day 

She  had  a  fainting  turn  :  she  had  them  oft 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  47 

Till  in  the  last,  poor  sainted  soul,  she  died. 
I  needs  must  run  and  fetch  him,  for  to  die 
Unreconciled  was  all  my  mother  feared, 
And  but  for  that,  she  had  so  hard  a  life 
She  would  have  changed  it  any  day  for  heaven, 
And  on  the  way  ('t  was  scarce  a  rood  from  home) 
An  idle  foul  young  lout  that  sauntered  by 
Griped  at  my  frock  —  I  tremble  at  it  still  — 
Thank  God,  the  Virgin  willed  that  at  the  trice 
Friar  Peter  (he  was  porter  all  that  month) 
Opened  the  gate  to  let  two  pilgrims  out, 
Bound,  as  they  told  us,  for  Jerusalem. 
Else  Heaven  knows  what  had  become  of  me, 
Or  whether  I  had  ever  had  the  face 
To  cheat  my  husband,  as  most  wenches  do, 
Without  confessing  aught :  for  I  am  honest 
If  ever  woman  was. 
FLERIDA.  Go  in,  go  in. 

NURSE.     Seest    thou    not    I    go?      Can    I    make 
haste 


48  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

With  these  poor  aching  joints?    Thou  think'st  thee 

safe? 

Remember  Ulric  in  his  dungeon  plans 
Vengeance  upon  you,  and  his  friends  abroad 
Hatch  plans  for  his  deliverance.     Thou  a  maid, 
An  orphan,  friendless,  with  these  ill-paid  men 
Guarding  thy  walls,  what  dost  thou  fading  here  ? 
Who  knows  but  he  is  dead,  thy  pretty  knight? 
His  time  is  up.     Were  he  alive  and  true 
He  had  spurred  home,  hearing  thy  father's  death, 
To  claim  thee  and  make  good  his  heritage. 
Fie  on  this  fondness,  girl !     It  had  been  wiser 
To  yield  to  Ulric.     Was  it  not  his  place 
To  guard  thee  ?     Led  he  not  thy  father's  men  ? 
Ah,  better  be  his  wife,  rich,  safe,  and  loved, 
Than  wait  for  ever  among  enemies 
For  what  will  never  come. 
FLERIDA.  Poor  soul,  go  in. 

The  five  years  are  not  passed,  and  if  they  were 
And  I  had  ocular  proof  that  he  was  dead, 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  49 

Ulric  should  not  be  master  in  these  walls. 
But  I  should  open  arches  in  the  tower 
For  bells  to  swing  in,  and  the  grass  should  grow 
Upon  the  buried  hinges  of  the  draw. 
Veiled  we  should  walk  within  the  garden-close, 
And  in  the  dimmed  hall  chant  our  psalmodies 
With  the  frail  voice  of  nuns.     So  get  thee  gone, 
And  summon  better  counsel  to  thy  heart 
Than  quavers  on  thy  lips.     Go  light  thy  taper, 
And  pray  for  the  safe-coming  of  thy  liege. 
NURSE.    I  go.     But  thou,  sweet  lady,  linger  not. 
The  victuals  will  grow  cold,  as  many  a  night 
They  have,  since  summer  makes  the  twilight  long 
And  thou  com'st  late  to  supper.  —  Ah,  poor  bones  ! 

{Exit. 

FLERIDA. 

Day  wanes  :  full  summer 's  hanging  in  the  air. 

Oh,  tarry  not,  my  own. 
See  !  the  first  withered  leaf  is  fallen  there 

And  I  am  here  alone. 
4 


So  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Hath  not  my  sorrow  magic  o'er  thy  breast  ? 

Hath  not  my  weary  plight 
The  wings  of  love  to  fly  into  thy  nest 

And  reach  thee  in  the  night? 
Come  to  me,  Palmerin.     Thy  trial 's  o'er, 

Thy  knightly  vow  fulfilled. 
Come  before  winter  chokes  the  ways,  before 

My  inmost  soul  is  chilled. 
Where  dost  thou  wander?     From  what  lonely  moor 

Dost  thou  salute  this  sun? 
Forget'st  thou  in  gay  courts  what  I  endure  ? 

Lov'st  thou  some  happier  one? 
Weak  woman  !  Can  my  doubting  heart  not  wait 

While  his  true  heart  can  fight? 
Why  should  I  falter  while  he  fronts  his  fate, 

Or  mourn  while  he  doth  right  ? 
Keep  him,  great  world,  till  the  white  shield  he  bore 

Be  blazoned  rich  in  pride. 
Fear  not  to  echo,  deserts,  he  's  no  more, 

If  he  have  nobly  died. 


THE   KNIGHT'S    RETURN  51 

Re-enter  NURSE  ;  later  HUGH,  a  page. 
NURSE.   Run  hither  quickly,  mistress.     Hasten  in 
And   bid   them  raise   the  bridge.     Some  horsemen 

climb 

The  western  hill.     Make  haste,  or  all  is  lost. 
Young  Hugh  espied  them  from  the  northern  tower, 
And  gave  us  warning. 

FLERIDA.  Heaven  hears  my  prayer. 

NURSE.   Madness.   Come  in.    I  prithee  hasten,  Hugh. 
She  '11  take  thy  word,  though  she  mistrusts  my  oath 
Who  never  lied  to  her  in  all  these  years 
That  I  have  served  her,  and  her  mother,  too, 
Long  before  she  was  thought  of.     Speak,  boy,  speak. 
Assure  thy  mistress  that  a  host  arrives. 
HUGH.   A  single  knight,  my  lady,  clad  in  arms. 
FLERIDA.   Young,  with  fair  locks? 
HUGH.  He  had  his  helmet  on. 

FLERIDA.   Saw'st  thou  his  shield  ? 
HUGH.  It  bore  a  rich  device, 

But  what  I  know  not. 


52  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

FLERIDA.  Came  he  mounted  well? 

HUGH.   Right  well,  on  a  white  steed.     But  at  the 

turn 

Dismounted,  and  now  leads  the  charger  up. 
NURSE.   O  God,  't  is  he  !    I  know  him  by  that  sign. 
He  always  did  so.     \_A  bugle  is  heard  in  the  distance. 
FLERIDA.   God  be  my  strength !     Answer  the  bugle, 

Hugh. 

Thy  master's  call.     It  is  Sir  Palmerin. 
Again,  again.  —  Summon  the  men-at-arms 
And  fetch  my  father's  sword,  his  helm  and  shield, 
That,  with  the  great  keys,  I  deliver  them 
To  him  whose  right  they  are.  [Exit  HUGH. 

The  day  is  come, 

Merciful  God,  the  day  is  come  at  last. 
NURSE.  Runnest  thou  not  to  meet  him  ?     Flyest  thou 

not? 

Oh,  if  I  could,  I  'd  rush  to  kiss  his  hands 
Full  half-way  down  the  steep.     Alas  !  these  bones. 
FLERIDA.    I,  who  have  waited  for  him  five  long  years, 


THE   KNIGHT'S    RETURN  53 

May  well  be  patient  now.     Here  let  him  find  me 
Where  last  we  parted,  at  the  castle  gate. 

Re-enter  HUGH,  men-at-arms,  and  attendant,  bearing 
some  pieces  of  armour. 

NURSE.  Oh,  I  must   weep  for  joy  !   See,  where  he 

comes, 

Not  so  much  changed  but  I  should  know  him  still 
Among  a  thousand.     Such  a  pretty  child 
As  the  knight  was,  and  such  a  roguish  boy  ! 
Can  this  be  Palmerin  ?     Who  could  have  fancied 
That  he  should  ever  be  this  stalwart  man  ? 

Enter  SIR  PALMERIN,  who,  seeing  the  lady  FLERIDA, 
who  remains  motionless,  goes  to  kneel  before  her. 

PALMERIN.  Lady,  hast  thou  forgotten  Palmerin  ? 
FLERIDA.    Were    memory    dead,   that    voice    would 

waken  it. 

PALMERIN.  What  mean  these  weeds,  these  arms? 
FLERIDA.  That  thou,  my  liege, 

Art  master  in  this  castle. 


54  A   HERMIT  OF   CARMEL 

PALMERIN.  Ah,  thy  father  — 

How  long  have  we  been  orphaned,  Flerida? 
FLERIDA.   Ten  moons  have  shed  their  light  upon  his 

grave. 

PALMERIN.    Oh,  more  than  father  — 
FLERIDA.  And  thou  more  than  son 

Wast  ever  to  him.     He  remembered  thee 
With  his  last  breath,  and  bade  me,  when  thou  earnest, 
Render  his  arms,  his  vassals,  and  his  towers 
Into  thy  hand.     My  lord,  receive  the  keys.     [Kneels. 
PALMERIN   [raising  her] . 
How  gladly,  if  these  keys  unlock  thy  heart, 
Dear  lady.     For  my  prize  is  not  these  walls, 
Nor  these  stout  men  and  honourable  arms. 
'T  was  not  for  them  I  served  the  Emperor 
In  many  a  battle  waged  in  heathen  lands. 
'T  was  in  the  hope  of  what  no  strength  of  arm 
Nor  kingly  favour,  without  grace  of  thine, 
Could  win  for  any  man.     If  thou  canst  love  me, 
I  take  all  else  to  do  thee  homage  with  j 


THE   KNIGHT'S    RETURN  55 

But  if  thy  heart,  in  my  long  absence  won 

By  some  more  worthy  suitor,  would  withdraw, 

Keep  the  rest  too,  for  to  be  wretched  in 

I  have  this  whole  vast  world  for  heritage. 

FLERIDA.  My  hand  and  heart  my  father  plighted  thee 

Upon  the  morning  when  he  dubbed  thee  knight. 

Both  shall  be  true.     If  other  ground  were  lacking, 

My  father's  choice  were  ground  enough  for  love. 

PALMERIN.  Nay,  let  not  duty  and  thy  father's  will 

Force  thee  to  wed  me.     Bid  thy  heart  pronounce. 

FLERIDA.  A  holy  love  is  not  the  fancy's  choice. 

A  mother  cherishes  the  child  she  bore, 

Nature's  dear  gift,  bestowed  with  many  a  pang 

And  weary  vigil  and  sweet  fluttering  joy 

That  flies  over  a  sea  of  brooding  care. 

A  father  is  not  chosen  but  revered, 

For  God  appointed  him.     'T  is  destiny, 

And  no  man's  wayward  will,  binds  brothers,  kindred, 

And  childhood's  friends  in  everlasting  bonds. 

Our  native  land  we  chose  not,  nor  our  king, 


56  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Nor  our  first  sovereign,  God.     All  sacred  ties 

Are  woven  round  us  by  the  hand  of  heaven 

And  therefore  bear  us  up.     Let  homeless  traitors 

Reject  their  lot,  like  fallen  Lucifer 

Wretched  'neath  every  sky ;  let  the  false  rabble 

Change  with  the  moon  its  despicable  chiefs ; 

Let  the  vain  fop  and  goaded  libertine 

Pick  their  poor  pleasures,  and  adulterous  spirits 

Pursue  a  phantom  down  the  drifts  of  hell. 

But  we  will  breathe  the  air  that  quickened  us 

And  see  by  this  same  light  that  gave  us  eyes, 

Here  rooted  where  God  sowed  us,  flowering  here 

Where  we  have  grown,  making  our  constancy 

A  pivot  for  this  wheeling  universe. 

Ah  !  't  is  a  fickle  and  unholy  fondness 

Springs  from  caprice  of  will.     Who  doteth  once 

May  dote  again,  for  who  shall  fetter  fancy  ? 

As  thou  couldst  bare  thy  breast  to  fortune's  arrows 

Undaunted,  for  thy  hope  was  all  in  God 

And  life  or  death  must  crown  it,  so  my  bosom, 


THE    KNIGHT'S   RETURN  57 

Enshrining  his  good  gifts,  is  satisfied 
And  cannot  speak  again.     Him  heaven  gave  me 
Shall  be  my  lord  and  my  unchangeable  love. 
PALMERIN.    O  constant    lady !     Let  me  then    thank 

heaven, 

That  graced  me  with  the  treasure  of  thy  troth. 
Rejoice  with  me,  my  comrades.     Say  no  more 
That  time  has  parted  us,  and  devious  chances 
Governed  our  lives.     How  now,  is  this  good  Carl  ? 
And  little  Hugh,  so  grown?     And  thou,  old  gossip, 
Goes  thy  rheum  better  now  the  season  warms  ? 
But  where  is  Ulric  ? 

FLERIDA.  Thou  shalt  know  anon. 

First  bid  the  people  give  us  leave  awhile. 
PALMERIN.    Make  ready,  then  ;  we  follow  you. 

[Exeunt  all  save  PALMERIN  and  FLERIDA. 

Dear  saint, 

Is  this  a  vision  or  a  waking  truth 
In  which  I  see  thee,  smiling  on  my  hopes, 
As  only  visions  smile  on  Jack-a-dreams  ? 


58  A   HERMIT  OF   CARMEL 

How  often  have  I  dreamt  between  two  battles 

Thou  stoodest  thus  above  me  in  the  dusk 

Half  joy,  half  courage  ! 

FLERIDA.  Haply  't  was  my  prayer, 

For  prayer  hath  wings  to  travel  in  the  night. 

PALMERIN.    Didst  thou  remember 

FLERIDA.  Not  as  others  pray. 

What  need  of  blessings  to  protest  I  loved  thee, 

When  benediction  rose  with  every  breath 

From  my  dumb  heart  to  thee  ?     Awake,  adream, 

In  woodland  rambles  or  in  household  tasks, 

I  moved  in  thy  love's  presence  as  in  God's, 

One  deity  to  me. 

PALMERIN.  How  undeserving, 

Fair  angel,  are  my  merits  oi  thy  love  ! 

How  could  I  win  it ! 

FLERIDA.  Ah,  if  God  can  love  thee, 

Why  should  a  mortal  give  a  cause  for  love  ? 

PALMERIN.    They  say  God  loves  us  all. 

FLERIDA.  Such  pitying  love 


THE    KNIGHT'S    RETURN  59 

Is  his  alone  who  knows  the  unsullied  spirit 

Shrouded  at  birth  beneath  this  fleshly  coil, 

And  can  divine  the  stature  of  that  virtue 

Each  yet  might  climb  to.     But  in  thee  declared 

Shine,  Palmerin,  the  hopes  of  all  the  world. 

What  God  beheld  and  destined  when  he  called  thee 

Out  of  the  void,  he  granted  me  to  see 

First  through  the  haze  of  maiden  dreams  and  now 

With  the  deep  glance  of  woman. 

PALMERIN.  Then  in  sooth 

'T  was  no  vain  fancy,  as  the  learned  say, 

That  made  thy  silent  presence  cross  my  path 

Where'er  I  turned,  for  if  I  slept  my  dream 

Painted  thy  smile,  and  when  the  vision  fled 

The  sunlit  fountain  met  me  with  thy  gaze. 

If  the  birds  chirruped,  it  was  Flerida, 

And  Flerida  if  any  minstrel  sang. 

Thy  mien  was  in  the  lilies,  the  thin  clouds 

Contrived  thy  garments'  fashion,  and  thy  courage 

Breathed  from  the  mountains  to  renew  my  soul. 


60  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Nor  was  there  need,  for  in  these  tables  here 
Thy  name,  thy  looks,  thy  words,  thy  noble  ways 
Were  graven  deep,  and,  as  the  gaudy  shadows 
Sulked  by  me  which  men  take  for  beauteous  thin^, 
I  laughed  to  scorn  each  feeble  counterfeit, 
And  cried  to  the  sweet  image  in  my  soul 
How  much  more  bright  thou  wast  and  beautiful. 
Little  I  thought  the  love  that  brought  me  blessing 
Brought  sorrow  here  to  thee. 
FLERIDA.  If  it  brought  sorro-. 

That  grief  was  consecrate  and  offered  up 
To  aid  thy  noble  venture.     'T  was  my  hope 
That  thy  young  sinews  in  a  dreamless  sleep 
Might  knit  them  for  the  battle,  while  my  vigils 
Kept  trimmed  thy  spirit's  lamp ;  so  might  thy  vaour, 
Fed  on  my  sorrow's  riches,  greet  the  mom 
With  more  unsullied  and  resplendent  rays 
Than  her  own  shining,  and  the  wondering  world 
Should  praise  thy  happy  courage,  little  knowing 
The  hidden  might  of  love  that  nerved  thy  arm 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  61 

Ad  taught  thy  blithe  soul  singing. 
P^MERIN.  Flerida, 

Tough  I  should  give  thee  all  my  life  and  blood, 
M  honour  and  immortal  soul,  't  were  nothing 
Bt  what  thou  gavest  first,  and  rendering  all 
I  yt  should  owe  thee  this  sweet  privilege 
Oiiaving  lived  and  loved  thee. 

Re-enter  NURSE. 

Nr.SE.  Loitering  still? 

Coie,  come,  the  supper  's  spoiling. 
FLRIDA  [pointing  to  the  castle} .  Wilt  thou  take 

Poiession  of  thy  poor  inheritance  ? 
PAIIERIN.    'Tis    poor   indeed,  a   case    without    its 

jewel, 

Til  thou  be  mine. 

FLRIDA.  Thou  hast  my  plighted  troth. 

PAIIERIN.    Ah,  pay  the  debt !  my  heart  has  waited 

long. 

FLRIDA.    No  priest  is  in  attendance,  Palmerin. 
Tilbne  be  duly  summoned  and  arrive 


62  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

I  am  my  father's  hostage  in  thy  hands 

Entrusted  to  thy  love  and  chivalry. 

PALMERIN.    I  long  have  bivouacked,  lady,  'neath  the 

stars, 

And  1  shall  better  rest  beneath  their  light 
While  I  am  still  an  exile  from  thy  bosom. 
Let  me  not  change  the  canopy  of  heaven 
Except  for  heaven's  self.     Before  this  shrine 
I  watched  my  virgin  arms  on  the  proud  eve 
Of  my  first  knighting.     On  this  prouder  vigil 
Let  me  hold  silent  session  with  my  heart 
Again  before  this  altar,  keeping  watch 
Over  this  sweeter  boon,  my  virgin  bride 
To  be  to-morrow  mine. 

FLERIDA  [to  the  NURSE]  .     Bid  them  bring  hither 
Some  wine  and  morsels  for  Sir  Palmerin, 
And  torches,  and  their  lutes  and  dulcimers. 

[Exit  NURSE. 

PALMERIN.    We  sup  to-night  beneath  a  lovers'  moon 
Not  quite  at  full. 


THE   KNIGHT'S    RETURN  63 

FLERIDA.  We  sup  beneath  the  stars 

That  never  wane,  though  nether  storms  obscure 
Their  revolutions  to  the  wistful  eyes 
Of  mortals.     So  our  love  shall  never  wane 
But  when  its  fame  on  earth  is  heard  no  more, 
Translated  to  the  language  of  the  skies, 
It  yet  shall  be  a  parcel  of  that  joy 
Which  saves  the  world  from  baseness. 

Attendants  with  torches  and  musical  instruments 
enter,  while  others  bring  in  supper. 

SONG. 

Come  make  thy  dwelling  here 

Where  all  sweet  pleasures  are. 
For  many  a  weary  year 
From  mates  and  lady  dear 

Thou  wanderest  afar. 
Come  make  thy  dwelling  here 
Beneath  love's  golden  star. 


64  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

The  battles'  stress  is  o'er 

That  should  thy  worth  approve. 

Ohy  follow  now  no  more 

The  ruby  star  of  war 

That  onward  still  must  move. 

Fixed  shines  above  thy  door 
The  golden  star  of  love. 

PALMERIN.  Flerida, 

What  solace  had  thy  orphaned  life  for  thee 

In  this  fair  desert?     Was  not  Ulric  here 

To  lend  thee  succour? 

FLERIDA.  He  was  here,  alas  ! 

PALMERIN.   Alas  ? 

FLERIDA.  That  he  proved  false. 

PALMERIN.  I  marvel.     Speak. 

FLERIDA.   Ah  me  !  A  sorry  tale.  —  He  said  the  castle 

As  to  my  father's  second  came  to  him ; 

That  I  within  it,  as  the  world  would  think, 

Must  be  his  also.     Doubtless  thou  wast  dead, 


THE    KNIGHT'S   RETURN  65 

Else  tidings  would  have  come.     To  save  my  honour 

I  must  not  wait,  but  bend  to  be  his  wife. 

PALMERIN.     Said  Ulric  so,  that  brave  and  trusty  man  ? 

Only  some  madness  could  transform  his  soul 

So  utterly. 

FLERIDA.        I  question  not  the  cause, 

I  mark  the  deed  and  brand  the  infamy. 

When  he  had  spoken  and  beheld  me  firm, 

The  coward  threatened  force.     We  were  alone 

And  he  unarmed ;  it  was  a  woman's  body, 

Not  a  man's  soul,  he  thought  to  cope  withal. 

My  father's  sword  was  hanging  by  the  wall : 

I  drew  the  blade,  and  as  he  rushed  to  snatch  it 

Transfixed  his  body  j  at  my  feet  he  fell 

Writhing ;  I  cried  for  help.     Then  Gunther  came 

And  the  young  Hugh.     I  published  his  offence, 

And  when  the  torment  and  the  fever  passed, 

For  my  poor  strength  had  left  some  breath  in  him, 

Fettered  and  manacled  they  brought  him  forth 

Into  the  hall,  before  my  men-at-arms 
5 


66  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

And  the  red  witness  of  his  own  foul  blood 

Staining  the  hearthstone ;  and  I  spoke  and  said : 

"  Unhappy  Ulric,  traitor  to  thy  liege, 

Whom  on  the  cross  thou  tookest  oath  to  serve, 

Thou  shalt  await  his  sentence.     When  he  comes 

He  shall  know  all  and  will  decree  thy  forfeit. 

But  if  he  come  not,  thou  shalt  live  in  chains 

Till  God  and  death  restore  thy  liberty." 

PALMERIN.    Is  he  still  captive  ? 

FLERIDA.  In  the  northern  tower, 

Whence  Hugh  but  now,  whom  Christian  charity 

Prompts  oft  to  visit  our  sad  prisoner, 

Saw  thee  approach.     Ulric  has  heard  the  news. 

PALMERIN.    Let  him  be  brought. 

FLERIDA  {to  the  men-at-arms'].  You  hear  my  lord's 

command.  — 

Ah,  Palmerin,  when  Christ  returns  to  earth 
Only  the  good  shall  welcome  him ;  thy  coming 
Will  bring  thy  faithless  servant  also  joy, 
For  I  foresee  thy  sentence. 


THE    KNIGHT'S    RETURN  67 

PALMERIN.  To  be  merciful 

Is  to  be  truly  just.  —  Has  he  not  mended 

Or  purged  his  sin  in  his  captivity? 

FLERIDA.    Indeed,  it  seems  he  has.     Hugh  and  the 

friar 

Who  daily  visits  him  both  bring  report 
Of  many  pious  and  profound  discourses 
With  which  he  charms  away  his  solitude. 
God  grant  his  wisdom  may  outlive  its  cause 
And  not  forsake  him  now.     For,  see,  he  comes. 

Re-enter  the  men-at-arms,  leading  in  ULRIC,  bound. 
PALMERIN.   Ulric,  it  wounds  my  soul  to  see  thee  thus. 
Undo  the  fetters.  [ULRIC  is  freed. 

What  has  chanced  I  know. 
'T  were  idle  to  rehearse  that  history. 
Only  one  matter,  past  my  understanding, 
I  ask  thee  to  confess  :  how  came  thy  soul 
To  harbour  thoughts  so  opposite  to  thine 
And  do  thy  nobleness  this  injury? 
ULRIC.   Alas  !     The  saddest  sorrow  of  the  world 


68  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Is  not  foul  sin,  but  that  resplendent  virtue 

That  yet  brings  evil  on.     'Twas  nothing  base, 

Hideous,  ignoble,  or  contemptible 

That  led  me  to  my  ruin,  but  the  might 

Of  perfect  sweetness,  joy  unthinkable, 

And  infinite  deserts ;  it  was  the  hunger 

For  what  most  truly  merits  to  be  loved. 

'T  was  love,  my  lord,  the  love  of  Flerida 

Which,  in  thy  bosom  waking  heaven's  choirs, 

Brought  hell  into  my  breast.     Was  not  her  face 

As  fair  for  me  as  thee  to  look  upon  ? 

Was  not  her  silver  voice  and  high  discourse 

Potent  with  reason  on  my  listening  ears  ? 

Why  was  it  criminal  in  me  to  love 

And  in  thee  lawful?     For  we  both  were  men, 

And  I  the  elder  and  the  better  born, 

Who  might  have  wooed  and  won  her  worthily. 

Yet  with  no  other  crime  than  lucklessness, 

Because  her  father  and  her  constant  soul 

Lit  first  on  thee,  the  tempest  of  my  love 


THE    KNIGHT'S    RETURN  69 

Wrecked  honour,  faith,  fame,  life,  and  hope  of  heaven, 
Which,  had  the  winds  blown  gently  on  my  fortunes, 
The  self-same  love  had  blessed  and  glorified. 
PALMERIN.    I  pity  thee  ;  but  summon  not  thy  love 
To  shield  thy  shame.     Hadst  thou  been  fortunate, 
Should  I  with  cunning  and  outrageous  hand 
Have  moved  against    thy  peace?      Nay,  by   God's 

mercy, 

I  should  have  gone  my  way,  and  patiently 
In  other  worlds  have  justified  my  soul; 
For  sorrow  more  religiously  than  love 
Counselleth  mortals. 

ULRIC.  Ah,  I  loved  too  much. 

PALMERIN.    Thou  sayest  well,  Too  much.     Not  that 

thy  love 

In  sweetness  or  in  silent  potency 
Of  grief  surpassed  or  mine  or  any  man's. 
But  finding  in  thy  spirit  no  defence, 
Love  fattened  on  thy  reason,  drank  thy  will, 
And  quite  consumed  thy  being ;  growing  great, 


70  A   HERMIT   OF    CARMEL 

It  left  thee  little,  as,  when  a  fiery  wind 

Devours  the  stubble,  both  together  perish 

And  all  goes  out  in  shame.     Water  these  ashes, 

Ulric,  with  warm  and  consecrated  tears, 

That  haply  some  new  sweetness  thence  arise 

Beneath  another  heaven.     Though  thou  leave  us, 

Our  hearts  will  not  forget  thee.     In  thy  prayers 

Remember  us,  and  use  thy  freedom  well. 

ULRIC.    I  thank  thee  for  thy  counsel  and  thy  mercy, 

Generous  knight.     Not  comfortless  I  go, 

For  not  thy  lips  alone,  well  catechised, 

Forgive  me,  Palmerin  :  thy  heart  forgives. 

I  would  not  use  my  freedom  now  to  rove 

But  to  ascend.     A  cloister's  little  earth 

Is  covered  by  the  whole  wide  firmament. 

Being  changed  within,  there  let  me  live  and  die 

An  anchorite,  that  I  may  outwardly 

Become  a  breathing  symbol  and  a  hand 

Pointing  to  heaven,  become  a  lamp  of  love 

And  keep  my  spirit's  sacrificial  flame 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  71 

Burning  before  the  altar,  till  my  blood, 
Its  living  oil,  to  light  refine  its  fire 
And  rise,  by  prayer  transmuted,  from  this  world. 
And  at  this  parting  let  me  bless  thee,  lady, 
Angel  God  chose  to  save  me  from  my  sin 
Even  by  tempting  me.     For  in  the  storm 
And  fury  of  my  madness  thy  calm  eyes 
That  unaware  had  called  me,  as  the  moon 
Summons  the  leaping  sea  to  follow  her, 
Soon  with  quick  bolt  and  soul-transfixing  ire 
Awaked  me  from  my  dream.     For  who  was  I, 
That  I  should  lift  me  to  so  pure  a  being 
Except  in  adoration,  as  the  wave 
That  mirrors  in  its  slimy  breast  the  glory 
Of  some  clear  star,  soon,  grateful  for  that  light, 
Sinks,  moaning,  to  its  restless  element. 
So  moaned  I,  in  my  dungeon's  loneliness 
And  in  that  larger  solitude,  the  world, 
Where  now  no  joy  remained  to  beckon  me. 
I  cried  to  Nature,  questioned  sun  and  moon, 


72  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

At  my  cell's  bars  celestial  visitants ; 

Yes,  I  importuned  my  own  soul  to  tell  me 

Whether  a  man  be  born  to  look  on  good 

And  straightway  perish.     Long  I  questioned  fate. 

No  answer  came  from  heaven  to  my  doubts ; 

But  with  the  Spring  and  the  reviving  note 

Of  thrush  and  swallow,  and  the  ploughman's  song 

Heard  from  the  fields,  I  somewhat  calmed  my  griefs, 

And  my  heart  took  new  counsel.     Though  a  wave 

Mirror  a  star  and  sink  into  the  sea, 

It  cannot  suffer ;  though  the  summer  fade 

It  shivers  not  at  autumn ;  though  the  spheres 

Crash  back  to  chaos  they  lament  it  not. 

Never  the  blasted  deserts  of  the  moon 

Mourned  their  lost  verdure  or  implored  reprieve. 

But  my  loud  heart-beats,  self-contemplative, 

Note  their  own  weariness,  and  death  foreknown 

Makes  life  a  grim  and  halting  agony. 

Yet  something  in  me  rides  on  circumstance 

And  swims  the  tide  of  change.     How  should  that  die 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  73 

Which  knows  its  dying,  or  that  pine  and  fade 
Which  marks  the  shrivelled  leafage  of  the  year? 
Can  ashes  choke  that  voice  to  lying  silence 
WThich  once  has  said  :  I  love  ?     That  truth  must  live 
Though  unremembered,  and  that  splendour  shine 
Though  all  eyes  close  in  sleep.     When  first  I  loved 

thee 

Something  immortal  darted  through  my  flesh 
And  made  me  godlike.     Henceforth  all  of  me 
That  loved  thee,  all  of  thee  my  puissant  love 
Hedging  with  worship  rescued  from  the  void 
Lives  in  eternity,  a  part  of  God, 
Who  feeds  with  earth's  unquenchable  desire 
The  skies'  ethereal  altar,  to  whose  flame 
Passions    are    brands,   thoughts    smoke    and    frank 
incense, 

Nations  and  worlds  unceasing  hecatombs. 
There,  growing  one  with  all  that  ravished  me, 
I  also  burn  and  never  cease  from  love. 
Farewell,  sweet  lady.     For  thy  pity  thanks, 


74  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

More  thanks  for  thy  disdain,  but  for  thy  beauty 
Infinite  thanks,  for  it  was  infinite 
And,  while  it  blinded  most,  unsealed  mine  eyes. 
FLERIDA.     Go  in  God's  peace,  and  may  he  grant  thee 

grace 
To  see  him  always.  [Exit  ULRIC. 

Palmerin,  this  night 

Brings  me  a  surfeit  and  a  cloud  of  joys. 
I  cannot  seize  them  all.     But  many  days 
Will  suck  their  drop  of  sweetness  from  this  store, 
And  many  silent  nights  and  absences 
Feed  on  its  garnered  bliss. 

NURSE.  What,  prattling  still  ? 

You  '11  catch  the  ague  and  the  chill  of  the  fens, 
And  lolling  in  the  moonlight,  talking  love, 
You  '11  die  before  the  wedding.     Come  along. 
PALMERIN.   Sleep,  Flerida,  falls  sweetly  on  a  heart 
Freed  from  long  doubt  and  anguish.     Take  thy  rest. 
Palmerin  watches  at  thy  castle  gates 
And  all  is  well.     Sleep,  sleep,  my  Flerida. 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  75 

FLERIDA.    Let  me  gaze  long  upon  thee  ere  I  go, 

Lest,  waking,  I  believe  that  I  have  dreamt 

And  weep  anew  and  be  disconsolate. 

PALMERIN.   Ah,  were  I  only  lying  by  thy  side 

At  the  first  checking  of  thy  peaceful  breath, 

To  chase  away  that  doubt  before  it  grieved  thee 

And  with  two  kisses  close  thy  dreamful  eyes  ! 

Alas  that  we  should  meet  to  part,  and  love 

Only  to  be  divided  ! 

FLERIDA.  Palmerin, 

Though  thou  hast  faced  the  world  and  conquered  it, 

Thy  noble  heart  is  young.     My  briefer  years 

And  lonely  life  have  farther  traced  the  thread 

By  which  fate  guides  us  through  this  labyrinth. 

To  learn  to  part,  to  learn  to  be  divided, 

We  meet  and  love  on  earth ;  to  learn  to  die 

Is  the  one  triumph  of  the  life  of  prayer. 

Shall  love  be  but  to  hug  the  mother's  breast, 

Or  else  run  wailing  ?     To  prolong  for  ever 

The  lovers'  kiss,  or  pine  for  blandishments? 


76  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Is  the  Lord's  body  but  unleavened  bread 

Weighed  with  a  baker's  measure,  or  his  blood 

Wine  to  be  drunk  in  bumpers  ?     And  shall  love 

Be  reckoned  in  embraces,  and  its  grace 

Die  with  the  taking  of  its  sacrament? 

These  be  but  symbols  to  the  eye  of  time 

Of  secrets  written  in  eternity. 

The  love  that  fed  must  wean  the  nourished  soul, 

And  through  the  dark  and  narrow  vale  of  death 

Send  forth  the  lover  lone  but  panoplied. 

Else  life  were  vain  and  love  a  moment's  trouble 

That,  passing,  left  untenanted  the  void, 

As  summer  winds  a-tremble  in  this  bower 

Might  waft  some  fragrance  from  a  rifled  rose 

Through  yonder  gulf  of  night  and  nothingness. 

Hadst  thou  in  battle  fallen,  were  my  soul 

Bereft  of  Palmerin?     Or  had  I  languished, 

Would  Flericla  have  mocked  thy  constancy  ? 

Banish  such  thoughts,  dear  master  of  my  being, 

From  thy  immortal  soul.     These  fond  enchantments 


THE   KNIGHT'S    RETURN  77 

Make  the  sweet  holiday  and  youth  of  love ; 
They  are  a  largess  and  bright  boon  of  heaven 
To  sweeten  our  resolves.     But  youth  will  fade, 
And  death,  not  mowing  with  a  two-edged  scythe, 
Will  cut  down  one  and  leave  the  other  bowing 
Before  the  wintry  wind.     Arm  not  with  terror 
That  swift,  unheralded,  insidious  foe, 
But  let  him  find  our  love  invulnerable 
And  our  heart's  treasure  in  eternal  hands. 
My  lord,  good-night.     To-day  my  joy  is  full, 
To  God  I  leave  to-morrow.     Fare  thee  well. 
PALMERIN  [kneeling  to  kiss  the  hand  she  gives  hini\ . 
Good-night,    my    own.      May    angels    guard    thy 

slumber  — 

FLERIDA.    And  share  thy  vigil  — 
PALMERIN.  Till  my  angel  come. 

[Exit  FLERIDA,  followed  by  her  household. 
As  they  go,  some  voices  repeat  snatches 
of  the  previous  song:  "  Come  make  thy 
dwelling  here"  etc. 


78  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

PALMERIN   \_aloni] . 

No,  Palmerin,  unbuckle  not  thy  arms, 

Guard  well  thy  lady's  sleep. 
Haply  the  wizards  of  the  wood  have  charms 

To  make  a  virgin  weep. 

All  goblin  sprites  and  fairies  of  the  trees 

That  lead  their  impish  dance 
Will  spy  thy  mantle's  cross ;  their  blood  will  freeze 

To  see  a  Christian  lance. 

Hark  !  the  old  croaking  frogs,  and  the  far  din 

Of  crickets  in  the  field. 
They  bid  me  welcome  home.     "  Hie,  Palmerin, 

Once  of  the  argent  shield, 

"  What 's  this  device  ?     Is  Flerida  this  flower, 

And  these  five  pearls  her  tears, 
Shed  for  thy  love  in  her  disconsolate  bower 

These  five  unhappy  years  ? 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  79 

"  Those  sable  bars  athwart  a  field  of  gules, 

Are  they  thy  nights  and  days 
Spent  mid  bluff  captains  and  rash  drunken  fools 

In  marches,  bouts,  and  frays?" 

Ay,  ye  chirp  well,  if  I  divine  your  note, 

Ye  civil,  croaking  elves  ! 
A  foolish  master  have  your  fields  and  moat 

And  your  so  learned  selves. 

Nothing  he  knows  of  wit  or  bookish  lore 

And  nothing  of  the  fair, 
Only  to  break  the  brutal  front  of  war 

And  half  repeat  a  prayer. 

Yet  this  sad  wight  is  he,  as  fairies  know, 

Whom  Flerida  hath  blest, 
Soon  locked  within  her  arms.     She  long  ago 

Was  locked  within  his  breast, 


8o  A   HERMIT   OF   CARMEL 

Celestial  Flerida,  whom  all  the  hours 

Adorning  from  her  birth 
Have  crowned  the  queen  of  stars,  the  queen  of  flowers, 

The  queen  of  maids  on  earth. 

Her  peerless  heart  hath  chosen  him  her  lord, 

The  rare  intrepid  maid, 
Whose  tender  hand  incarnadined  a  sword 

Lest  he  should  be  betrayed. 

Out  of  his  nothingness  her  bounteous  love 

Bred  all  his  poor  desert 
As  God  lent  to  the  void  he  made  us  of 

His  image  for  a  heart. 

Like  to  the  dateless  dark  before  our  birth 

Are  those  five  winters  past, 
This  vigil  like  the  twilight  life  of  earth, 

Then  paradise  at  last 


THE   KNIGHT'S   RETURN  81 

And  changeless  love.     How  in  the  paling  skies 

The  star  of  morning  burns  ! 
Open,  heaven's  gates  !     Eternal  sun,  arise  ! 

Sir  Palmerin  returns. 


ELEGIAC   AND   LYRIC   POEMS 


PREMONITION 

THE  muffled  syllables  that  Nature  speaks 
Fill  us  with  deeper  longing  for  her  word ; 

She  hides  a  meaning  that  the  spirit  seeks, 
She  makes  a  sweeter  music  than  is  heard. 

A  hidden  light  illumines  all  our  seeing, 
An  unknown  love  enchants  our  solitude. 

We  feel  and  know  that  from  the  depths  of  being 
Exhales  an  infinite,  a  perfect  good. 

Though  the  heart  wear  the  garment  of  its  sorrow 

And  be  not  happy  like  a  naked  star, 
Yet  from  the  thought  of  peace  some  peace  we  borrow, 

Some  rapture  from  the  rapture  felt  afar. 
85 


86  PREMONITION 

Our  heart  strings  are  too  coarse  for  Nature's  fingers 

To  wake  her  purest  melodies  upon, 
And  the  harsh  tremor  that  among  them  lingers 

Will  into  sweeter  silence  die  anon. 

We  catch  the  broken  prelude  and  suggestion 
Of  things  unuttered,  needing  to  be  sung ; 

We  know  the  burden  of  them,  and  their  question 
Lies  heavy  on  the  heart,  nor  finds  a  tongue. 

Till  haply,  lightning  through  the  storm  of  ages, 
Our  sullen  secret  flash  from  sky  to  sky, 

Glowing  in  some  diviner  poet's  pages 
And  swelling  into  rapture  from  this  sigh. 


SOLIPSISM 

I  COULD  believe  that  I  am  here  alone, 

And  all  the  world  my  dream  ; 
The  passion  of  the  scene  is  all  my  own, 

And  things  that  seem  but  seem. 

Perchance  an  exhalation  of  my  sorrow 

Hath  raised  this  vaporous  show, 
For  whence    but    from   my  soul    should    all    things 
borrow 

So  deep  a  tinge  of  woe  ? 

I  keep  the  secret  doubt  within  my  breast 

To  be  the  gods'  defence, 
To  ease  the  heart  by  too  much  ruth  oppressed 

And  drive  the  horror  hence. 
87 


88  SOLIPSISM 

O  sorrow  that  the  patient  brute  should  cower 

And  die,  not  having  sinned  ! 
O  pity  that  the  wild  and  fragile  flower 

Should  shiver  in  the  wind  ! 

Then  were  I  dreaming  dreams  I  know  not  of, 

For  that  is  part  of  me 
That  feels  the  piercing  pang  of  grief  and  love 

And  doubts  eternally. 

But  whether  all  to  me  the  vision  come 

Or  break  in  many  beams, 
The  pageant  ever  shifts,  and  being's  sum 

Is  but  the  sum  of  dreams. 


SYBARIS 

LAP,  ripple,  lap,  Icarian  wave,  the  sand 
Along  the  ruins  of  this  piteous  land ; 
Murmur  the  praises  of  a  lost  delight, 
And  soothe  the  aching  of  my  starved  sight 
With  sheen  of  mirrored  beauties,  caught  aright. 

Here  stood  enchanted  palaces  of  old, 
All  veined  porphyry  and  burnished  gold ; 
Here  matrons  and  slight  maidens  sat  aloof 
Beneath  cool  porches,  rich  with  Tyrian  woof 
Hung  from  the  carven  rafters  of  the  roof. 

Here  in  the  mart  a  swarthy  turbaned  brave 

Showed  the  wrought  blade  or  praised  the  naked  slave. 
89 


90  SYBARIS 

"  Touch  with  your  finger-tips  this  edge  of  steel," 
Quoth  he,  "  and  see  this  lad,  from  head  to  heel 
Like  a  bronze  Cupid.     Feel,  my  masters,  feel." 

Here  Aphrodite  filled  with  frenzied  love 
The  dark  recesses  of  her  murmurous  grove. 
The  doves  that  haunted  it,  the  winds  that  sighed, 
Were  souls  of  youths  that  in  her  coverts  died, 
And  hopes  of  heroes  strewed  her  garden  wide. 

Under  her  shades  a  narrow  brazen  gate 

Led  to  the  courts  of  Ares  and  of  Fate. 

Who  entered  breathed  the  unutterable  prayer 

Of  cruel  hearts,  and  death  was  worshipped  there, 

And  men  went  thence  enfranchised  by  despair. 

Here  the  proud  athlete  in  the  baths  delayed, 
While  a  cool  fountain  on  his  shoulders  played, 
Then  in  fine  linen  swathed  his  breast  and  thighs, 
And  silent,  myrtle- crowned,  with  serious  eyes, 
Stepped  forth  to  list  the  wranglings  of  the  wise. 


SYBARIS  91 

A  sage  stalked  by,  his  ragged  mantle  bound 
About  his  brows ;  his  eyes  perused  the  ground  ; 
He  conned  the  number  of  the  cube  and  square 
Of  the  moon's  orb ;   his  horny  feet  and  bare 
Trampled  the  lilies  carpeting  the  stair. 

A  jasper  terrace  hung  above  the  sea 

Where  the  King  supped  with  his  beloved  three : 

The  Libyan  chanted  of  her  native  land 

In  raucous  melody,  the  Indian  fanned, 

And  the  huge  mastiff  licked  his  master's  hand. 

Below,  alone,  despairing  of  the  gale, 

A  crouching  sailor  furled  the  saffron  sail ; 

Then  rose,  breathed  deep,  and  plunged  in  the  lagoon. 

A  mermaid  spied  his  glistening  limbs  :  her  croon 

Enticed  him  down ;  her  cold  arms  choked  him  soon. 

And  the  King  laughed,  filled  full  his  jewelled  bowl, 
And  drinking  cried  :   "  What  know  we  of  the  soul  ? 


92  SYBARIS 

What  number  addeth  to  her  harmony 
These  drops  of  vintage  that  attune  her  key, 
Or  those  of  brine  that  set  the  wretched  free  ? 

"  If  death  should  change  me,  as  old  fables  feign, 
Into  some  slave  or  beast,  to  purge  with  pain 
My  lordly  pleasures,  let  my  torment  be 
Still  to  behold  thee,  Sybaris,  and  see 
The  sacred  horror  of  thy  loves  and  thee. 

"  Be  thou  my  hell,  my  dumb  eternal  grief, 
But  spare  thy  King  the  madness  of  belief, 
The  brutish  faith  of  ignorant  desire 
That  strives  and  wanders.     Let  the  visible  fire 
Of  beauty  torture  me.     That  doom  is  higher. 

"  I  wear  the  crown  of  life.     The  rose  and  gem 
Twine  with  the  pale  gold  of  my  diadem. 
Nature,  long  secret,  hath  unveiled  to  me 
And  proved  her  vile.     Her  wanton  bosoms  be 
My  pillow  now.     I  know  her,  I  am  free." 


SYBARIS  93 

He  spoke,  and  smiling  stretched  a  languid  hand, 
And  music  burst  in  mighty  chords  and  bland 
Of  harp  and  flute  and  cymbal.  —  When  between 
Two  cypresses  the  large  moon  rose,  her  sheen 
Silvered  the  nymphs'  feet,  tripping  o'er  the  green. 


AVILA 

AGAIN  my  feet  are  on  the  fragrant  moor 
Amid  the  purple  uplands  of  Castile, 

Realm  proudly  desolate  and  nobly  poor, 
Scorched  by  the  sky's  inexorable  zeal. 

Wide  desert  where  a  diadem  of  towers 
Above  Adajar  hems  a  silent  town, 

And  locks,  unmindful  of  the  mocking  hours, 
Her  twenty  temples  in  a  granite  crown. 

The  shafts  of  fervid  light  are  in  the  sky, 
And  in  my  heart  the  mysteries  of  yore. 

Here  the  sad  trophies  of  my  spirit  lie : 
These  dead  fulfilled  my  destiny  before. 
94 


AVILA  95 

Like  huge  primeval  stones  that  strew  this  plain, 
Their  nameless  sorrows  sink  upon  my  breast, 

And  like  this  ardent  sky  their  cancelled  pain 
Smiles  at  my  grief  and  quiets  my  unrest. 

For  here  hath  mortal  life  from  age  to  age 

Endured  the  silent  hand  that  makes  and  mars, 

And,  sighing,  taken  up  its  heritage  • 

Beneath  the  smiling  and  inhuman  stars. 

Still  o'er  this  town  the  crested  castle  stands, 
A  nest  for  storks,  as  once  for  haughty  souls ; 

Still  from  the  abbey,  where  the  vale  expands, 
The  curfew  for  the  long  departed  tolls, 

Wafting  some  ghostly  blessing  to  the  heart 
From  prayer  of  nun  or  silent  Capuchin, 

To  heal  with  balm  of  Golgotha  the  smart 
Of  weary  labour  and  distracted  sin. 


96  AVI  LA 

What  fate  has  cast  me  on  a  tide  of  time 

Careless  of  joy  and  covetous  of  gold, 
What  force  compelled  to  weave  the  pensive  rhyme 

When  loves  are  mean,  and  faith  and  honour  old, 

When  riches  crown  in  vain  men's  sordid  lives, 
And  learning  chokes  a  mind  of  base  degree  ? 

What  winged  spirit  rises  from  their  hives  ? 
What  heart,  revolting,  ventures  to  be  free  ? 

Their  pride  will  sink  and  more  ignobly  fade 

Without  memorial  of  its  hectic  fire. 
What  altars  shall  survive  them,  where  they  prayed  ? 

What  lovely  deities?     What  riven  lyre? 

Tarry  not,  pilgrim,  but  with  inward  gaze 
Pass  daily,  musing,  where  their  prisons  are, 

And  o'er  the  ocean  of  their  babble  raise 

Thy  voice  in  greeting  to  thy  changeless  star. 


AVILA  97 

Abroad  a  tumult,  and  a  ruin  here ; 

Nor  world  nor  desert  hath  a  home  for  thee. 
Out  of  the  sorrows  of  the  barren  year 

Build  thou  thy  dwelling  in  eternity. 

Let  patience,  faith's  wise  sister,  be  thy  heaven, 
And  with  high  thoughts  necessity  alloy. 

Love  is  enough,  and  love  is  ever  given, 

While  fleeting  days  bring  gift  of  fleeting  joy. 

The  little  pleasures  that  to  catch  the  sun 
Bubble  a  moment  up  from  being's  deep, 

The  glittering  sands  of  passion  as  they  run, 
The  merry  laughter  and  the  happy  sleep,— 

These  are  the  gems  that,  like  the  stars  on  fire, 
Encrust  with  glory  all  our  heaven's  zones ; 

Each  shining  atom,  in  itself  entire, 
Brightens  the  galaxy  of  sister  stones, 


98  AVILA 

Dust  of  a  world  that  crumbled  when  God's  dream 
To  throbbing  pulses  broke  the  life  of  things, 

And  mingled  with  the  void  the  scattered  gleam 
Of  many  orbs  that  move  in  many  rings, 

Perchance  at  last  into  the  parent  sun 
To  fall  again  and  reunite  their  rays, 

When  God  awakes  and  gathers  into  one 
The  light  of  all  his  loves  and  all  his  days. 


KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL 

THE  buttress  frowns,  the  gorgeous  windows  blaze, 
The  vault  hangs  wonderful  with  woven  fans, 

The  four  stone  sentinels  to  heaven  raise 

Their  heads,  in  a  more  constant  faith  than  man's. 

The  College  gathers,  and  the  courtly  prayer 
Is  answered  still  by  hymn  and  organ-groan ; 

The  beauty  and  the  mystery  are  there, 
The  Virgin  and  Saint  Nicholas  are  gone. 

Not  one  Ora pro  nobis  bids  them  pause 
In  their  far  flight,  to  hear  this  anthem  roll ; 

No  heart,  of  all  that  the  King's  relic  awes, 
Sings  Requicscat  to  his  mournful  soul. 
99 


ioo  KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL 

No  grain  of  incense  thrown  upon  the  embers 
Of  their  cold  hearth,  no  lamp  in  witness  hung 

Before  their  image.  One  alone  remembers  ; 
Only  the  stranger  knows  their  mother  tongue. 

Long  rows  of  tapers  light  the  people's  places ; 

The  little  choristers  may  read,  and  mark 
The  rhythmic  fall ;  I  see  their  wondering  faces ; 

Only  the  altar  —  like  the  soul  —  is  dark. 

Ye  floating  voices  through  these  arches  ringing 
With  measured  music,  subtle,  sweet,  and  strong, 

Feel  ye  the  inmost  reason  of  your  singing  ? 
Know  ye  the  ancient  burden  of  your  song  ? 

The  twilight  deepens,  and  the  blood-dyed  glories 

Of  all  these  fiery  blazonings  are  dim. 
Oh,  they  are  jumbled,  sad,  forgotten  stories  ! 

Why  should  ye  read  them,  children?     Chant  your 
hymn. 


KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL  101 

But  I  must  con  them  while  the  rays  of  even 

Kindle  aloft  some  fading  jewel-gleam 
And  the  vast  windows  glow  a  peopled  heaven, 

Rich  with  the  gathering  pageant  of  my  dream. 

Eden  I  see,  where  from  the  leafy  cover 

The  green-eyed  snake  begins  to  uncoil  his  length 

And  whispers  to  the  woman  and  her  lover, 
As  they  lie  musing,  large,  in  peaceful  strength. 

I  see  their  children,  bent  with  toil  and  terror, 
Lurking  in  caves,  or  heaping  madly  on 

The  stones  of  Babel,  or  the  endless  error 
Of  Sodom,  Nineveh,  and  Babylon. 

Here  the  Egyptian,  wedding  life  with  death, 
Flies  from  the  sun  into  his  painted  tomb, 

And  winds  the  secret  of  his  antique  faith 

Tight  in  his  shroud,  and  seals  in  sterile  gloom. 


102  KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL 

There  the  bold  prophets  of  the  heart's  desire 
Hail  the  new  Zion  God  shall  build  for  them, 

And  rapt  Isaiah  strikes  the  heavenly  lyre, 
And  Jeremiah  mourns  Jerusalem. 

Here  David's  daughter,  full  of  grace  and  truth, 
Kneels  in  the  temple,  waiting  for  the  Lord  \ 

With  the  first  Ave  comes  the  winged  youth, 
Bringing  the  lily  ere  he  bring  the  sword. 

There,  to  behold  the  Mother  and  the  Child, 

The  sturdy  shepherds  down  the  mountain  plod, 

And  angels  sing,  with  voices  sweet  and  wild 
And  wide  lips  parted  :  "  Glory  be  to  God." 

Here,  mounted  on  an  ass,  the  twain  depart 
To  hallowed  Egypt,  safe  from  Herod's  wrong ; 

And  Mary  ponders  all  things  in  her  heart, 
And  pensive  Joseph  sadly  walks  along. 


KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL  103 

There  with  the  Twelve,  before  his  blood  is  shed, 
Christ  blesses  bread  and  breaks  it  with  his  hands, 

"  This  is  my  body."     Thomas  shakes  his  head, 
They  marvel  all,  and  no  one  understands, 

Save  John,  whom  Jesus  loved  above  the  rest. 

He  marvels  too,  but,  seeking  naught  beside, 
Leans,  as  his  wont  is,  on  his  Master's  breast. 

Ah  !  the  Lord's  body  also  should  abide. 

There  Golgotha  is  dark  against  the  blue 

In  the  broad  east,  above  the  painted  crowd. 

And  many  look  upon  the  sign,  but  few 
Read  the  hard  lesson  of  the  cross  aloud. 


And  from  this  altar,  now  an  empty  tomb, 
The  Lord  is  risen.     Lo  !  he  is  not  here. 

No  shining  angel  sitteth  in  the  gloom, 
No  Magdalen  in  anguish  draweth  near. 


104  KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL 

All  pure  in  heart,  or  all  in  aspect  pure, 

The  seemly  Christians,  kneeling,  line  the  choir, 

And  drop  their  eyelids,  tender  and  demure, 
As  the  low  lingering  harmonies  expire. 

In  that  Amen  are  the  last  echoes  blended 
Of  all  the  ghostly  world.  The  shades  depart 

Into  the  sacred  night.  In  peace  is  ended 
The  long  delirious  fever  of  the  heart. 

Then  I  go  forth  into  the  open  wold 

And  breathe  the  vigour  of  the  freshening  wind, 
And  with  the  piling  drift  of  cloud  I  hold 

A  worship  sweeter  to  the  homeless  mind, 

Where  the  squat  willows  with  their  osiers  crowned 
Border  the  humble  reaches  of  the  Cam, 

And  the  deep  meadows  stretching  far  around 
Make  me  forget  the  exile  that  I  am,  — 


KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL  105 

Exile  not  only  from  the  wind-swept  moor 
Where  Guadarrama  lifts  his  purple  crest, 

But  from  the  spirit's  realm,  celestial,  sure 
Goal  of  all  hope  and  vision  of  the  best. 

They  also  will  go  forth,  these  gentle  youths, 
Strong  in  the  virtues  of  their  manful  isle, 

Till  one  the  pathway  of  the  forest  smooths, 
And  one  the  Ganges  rules,  and  one  the  Nile ; 

And  to  whatever  wilderness  they  choose 

Their  hearts  will  bear  the  sanctities  of  home, 

The  perfect  ardours  of  the  Grecian  Muse, 
The  mighty  labour  of  the  arms  of  Rome ; 

But,  ah  !  how  little  of  these  storied  walls 

Beneath  whose  shadow  all  their  nurture  was  ! 

No,  not  one  passing  memory  recalls 
The  Blessed  Mary  and  Saint  Nicholas. 


106  KING'S   COLLEGE   CHAPEL 

Unhappy  King,  look  not  upon  these  towers, 
Remember  not  thine  only  work  that  grew. 

The  moving  world  that  feeds  thy  gift  devours, 
And  the  same  hand  that  finished  overthrew. 


ON  AN  UNFINISHED  STATUE 

BY  MICHAEL  ANGELO   IN  THE  BARGELLO, 
CALLED   AN   APOLLO   OR  A    DAVID 

WHAT  beauteous  form  beneath  a  marble  veil 
Awaited  in  this  block  the  Master's  hand  ? 

Could  not  the  magic  of  his  art  avail 

To  unseal  that  beauty's  tomb  and  bid  it  stand  ? 

Alas  !  the  torpid  and  unwilling  mass 

Misknew  the  sweetness  of  the  mind's  control, 

And  the  quick  shifting  of  the  winds,  alas  ! 
Denied  a  body  to  that  flickering  soul. 

Fair  homeless  spirit,  harbinger  of  bliss, 

It  wooed  dead  matter  that  they  both  might  live, 
But  dreamful  earth  still  slumbered  through  the  kiss 

And  missed  the  blessing  heaven  stooped  to  give, 
107 


io8         ON   AN   UNFINISHED   STATUE 

As  when  Endymion,  locked  in  dullard  sleep, 
Endured  the  gaze  of  Dian,  till  she  turned 

Stung  with  immortal  wrath  and  doomed  to  weep 
Her  maiden  passion  ignorantly  spurned. 

How  should  the  vision  stay  to  guide  the  hand, 
How  should  the  holy  thought  and  ardour  stay, 

When  the  false  deeps  of  all  the  soul  are  sand 
And  the  loose  rivets  of  the  spirit  clay  ? 

What  chisel  shaking  in  the  pulse  of  lust 
Shall  find  the  perfect  line,  immortal,  pure  ? 

What  fancy  blown  by  every  random  gust 

Shall  mount  the  breathless  heavens  and  endure? 


Vain  was  the  trance  through  which  a  thrill  of  joy 
Passed  for  the  nonce,  when  a  vague  hand,  unled, 

Half  shaped  the  image  of  this  lovely  boy 
And  caught  the  angel's  garment  as  he  fled. 


ON   AN    UNFINISHED   STATUE         109 

Leave,  leave,  distracted  hand,  the  baffling  stone, 
And  on  that  clay,  thy  fickle  heart,  begin. 

Mould  first  some  steadfast  virtue  of  thine  own 
Out  of  the  sodden  substance  of  thy  sin. 

They  who  wrought  wonders  by  the  Nile  of  old, 
Bequeathing  their  immortal  part  to  us, 

Cast  their  own  spirit  first  into  the  mould 

And  were  themselves  the  rock  they  fashioned  thus. 

Ever  their  docile  and  unwearied  eye 

Traced  the  same  ancient  pageant  to  the  grave, 

And  awe  made  rich  their  spirit's  husbandry 
With  the  perpetual  refluence  of  its  wave, 

Till  'twixt  the  desert  and  the  constant  Nile 
Sphinx,  pyramid,  and  awful  temple  grew, 

And  the  vast  gods,  self-knowing,  learned  to  smile 
Beneath  the  sky's  unalterable  blue. 


no          ON  AN   UNFINISHED   STATUE 

Long,  long  ere  first  the  rapt  Arcadian  swain 

Heard  Pan's  wild  music  pulsing  through  the  grove, 

His  people's  shepherds  held  paternal  reign 
Beneath  the  large  benignity  of  Jove. 

Long  mused  the  Delphic  sibyl  in  her  cave 
Ere  mid  his  laurels  she  beheld  the  god, 

And  Beauty  rose  a  virgin  from  the  wave 
In  lands  the  foot  of  Heracles  had  trod. 

Athena  reared  her  consecrated  wall, 
Poseidon  laid  its  rocky  basement  sure, 

When  Theseus  had  the  monstrous  race  in  thrall 
And  made  the  worship  of  his  people  pure. 

Long  had  the  stripling  stood  in  silence,  veiled, 
Hearing  the  heroes'  legend  o'er  and  o'er, 

Long  in  the  keen  palaestra  striven,  nor  quailed 
To  tame  the  body  to  the  task  it  bore, 


ON   AN    UNFINISHED   STATUE          in 

Ere  soul  and  body,  shaped  by  patient  art, 

Walked  linked  with  the  gods,  like  friend  with  friend, 

And  reason,  mirrored  in  the  sage's  heart, 
Beheld  her  purpose  and  confessed  her  end. 


Mould,  then,  thyself  and  let  the  marble  be. 

Look  not  to  frailty  for  immortal  themes, 
Nor  mock  the  travail  of  mortality 

With  barren  husks  and  harvesting  of  dreams. 


MIDNIGHT 

THE  dank  earth  reeks  with  three  days'  rain, 
The  phantom  trees  are  dark  and  still, 
Above  the  darkness  and  the  hill 
The  tardy  moon  shines  out  again. 
O  heavy  lethargy  of  pain  ! 

0  shadows  of  forgotten  ill ! 

My  parrot  lips,  when  I  was  young, 
To  prove  and  to  disprove  were  bold. 
The  mighty  world  has  tied  my  tongue, 
And  in  dull  custom  growing  old 

1  leave  the  burning  truth  untold 
And  the  heart's  anguish  all  unsung. 

112 


MIDNIGHT  113 

Youth  dies  in  man's  benumbed  soul, 
Maid  bows  to  woman's  broken  life, 
A  thousand  leagues  of  silence  roll 
Between  the  husband  and  the  wife. 
The  spirit  faints  with  inward  strife 
And  lonely  gazing  at  the  pole. 

But  how  should  reptiles  pine  for  wings 
Or  a  parched  desert  know  its  dearth  ? 
Immortal  is  the  soul  that  sings 
The  sorrow  of  her  mortal  birth. 
O  cruel  beauty  of  the  earth ! 
O  love's  unutterable  stings  ! 


IN   GRANTCHESTER   MEADOWS 

ON   FIRST   HEARING  A  SKYLARK  SING 

Too  late,  thou  tender  songster  of  the  sky 
Trilling  unseen,  by  things  unseen  inspired, 

I  list  thy  far-heard  cry 
That  poets  oft  to  kindred  song  hath  fired, 
As  floating  through  the  purple  veils  of  air 

Thy  soul  is  poured  on  high, 
A  little  joy  in  an  immense  despair. 

Too  late  thou  biddest  me  escape  the  earth, 

In  ignorance  of  wrong 
To  spin  a  little  slender  thread  of  song ; 

On  yet  unwearied  wing 

To  rise  and  soar  and  sing, 

Not  knowing  death  or  birth 

Or  any  true  unhappy  human  thing. 
114 


IN    GRANTCHESTER   MEADOWS         115 

To  dwell  'twixt  field  and  cloud, 
By  river-willow  and  the  murmurous  sedge, 

Be  thy  sweet  privilege, 
To  thee  and  to  thy  happy  lords  allowed. 
My  native  valley  higher  mountains  hedge 

'Neath  starlit  skies  and  proud, 
And  sadder  music  in  my  soul  is  loud. 

Yet  have  I  loved  thy  voice, 
Frail  echo  of  some  ancient  sacred  joy. 

Ah,  who  might  not  rejoice 
Here  to  have  wandered,  a  fair  English  boy, 
And  breathed  with  life  thy  rapture  and  thy  rest 
Where  woven  meadow-grasses  fold  thy  nest? 

But  whose  life  is  his  choice  ? 
And  he  who  chooseth  not  hath  chosen  best. 


FUTILITY 

FAIR  Nature,  has  thy  wisdom  naught  to  say 
To  cheer  thy  child  in  a  disconsolate  hour  ? 
Why  do  thy  subtle  hands  betray  their  power 
And  but  half- fashioned  leave  thy  finer  clay? 
Upon  what  journeys  doth  thy  fancy  stray 
That  weeds  in  thy  broad  garden  choke  the  flower, 
And  many  a  pilgrim  harboured  in  thy  bower 
A  stranger  came,  a  stranger  went  away  ? 
Ah,  Mother,  little  can  the  soul  avail 
Unchristened  at  some  font  of  ancient  love. 
What  boots  the  vision  if  the  meaning  fail, 
When  all  the  marvels  of  the  skies  above 
March  to  the  passions  they  are  mirrors  of? 

If  the  heart  pine,  the  very  stars  will  pale. 
116 


BEFORE   A   STATUE   OF 
ACHILLES 


BEHOLD  Pelides  with  his  yellow  hair, 
Proud  child  of  Thetis,  hero  loved  of  Jove  ; 
Above  the  frowning  of  his  brows  it  wove 
A  crown  of  gold,  well  combed,  with  Spartan  care. 
Who  might  have  seen  him,  sullen,  great,  and  fair, 
As  with  the  wrongful  world  he  proudly  strove, 
And  by  high  deeds  his  wilder  passion  shrove, 
Mastering  love,  resentment,  and  despair. 
He  knew  his  end,  and  Phoebus'  arrow  sure 
He  braved  for  fame  immortal  and  a  friend, 
Despising  life ;  and  we,  who  know  our  end, 
Know  that  in  our  decay  he  shall  endure 
And  all  our  children's  hearts  to  grief  inure, 

With  whose  first  bitter  battles  his  shall  blend. 
117 


u8   BEFORE  A  STATUE  OF  ACHILLES 


Who  brought  thee  forth,  immortal  vision,  who 

In  Phthia  or  in  Tempe  brought  thee  forth? 

Out  of  the  sunlight  and  the  sapful  earth 

What  god  the  simples  of  thy  spirit  drew  ? 

A  goddess  rose  from  the  green  waves,  and  threw 

Her  arms  about  a  king,  to  give  thee  birth ; 

A  centaur,  patron  of  thy  boyish  mirth, 

Over  the  meadows  in  thy  footsteps  flew. 

Now  Thessaly  forgets  thee,  and  the  deep 

Thy  keeled  bark  furrowed  answers  not  thy  prayer ; 

But  far  away  new  generations  keep 

Thy  laurels  fresh,  where  branching  Isis  hems 

The  lawns  of  Oxford  round  about,  or  where 

Enchanted  Eton  sits  by  pleasant  Thames. 


BEFORE  A   STATUE   OF  ACHILLES      119 

m 

I  gaze  on  thee  as  Phidias  of  old 

Or  Polyclitus  gazed,  when  first  he  saw 

These  hard  and  shining  limbs,  without  a  flaw, 

And  cast  his  wonder  in  heroic  mould. 

Unhappy  me  who  only  may  behold, 

Nor  make  immutable  and  fix  in  awe 

A  fair  immortal  form  no  worm  shall  gnaw, 

A  tempered  mind  whose  faith  was  never  told  ! 

The  godlike  mien,  the  lion's  lock  and  eye, 

The  well-knit  sinew,  utter  a  brave  heart 

Better  than  many  words  that  part  by  part 

Spell  in  strange  symbols  what  serene  and  whole 

In  nature  lives,  nor  can  in  marble  die. 

The  perfect  body  is  itself  the  soul. 


GDI   ET  AMO 

/  love  and  hate.     Alas,  the  why 
I  know  not:  but  I  love,  and  die. 

CATULLUS. 

i 

A  WREATHED  altar  was  this  pagan  heart, 
In  sad  denial  dressed  and  high  intent, 
And  amid  ruins  fed  its  flame  apart, 
Heedless  of  shadows  as  they  came  and  went. 
Till  the  poor  soul,  enticed  by  what  she  saw, 
Forsook  her  griefs  eternal  element, 
Filled  with  her  tears  a  well  from  which  to  draw, 
And  flooded  heaven  with  a  light  she  lent. 
A  thousand  times  that  mirrored  glory  fled, 
By  ravished  eyes  a  thousand  times  pursued ; 

Yet  loving  hope  outlived  all  beauties  dead, 
120 


GDI   ET   AMO  121 

And  hunger  turned  the  very  stones  to  food. 
Insensate  love,  wilt  thou  then  never  tire, 
Breeding  the  fuel  of  thy  proper  fire  ? 


What  gleaming  cross  rebukes  this  infidel? 
What  lion  groans,  awakened  in  his  lair  ? 
Angel  or  demon,  what  unearthly  spell 
Returns,  divinely  false  like  all  things  fair, 
To  mock  this  desolation  ?     Fleeting  vision, 
Frail  as  a  smoke-wreath  in  the  sunlit  air, 
Indomitable  hope  or  vain  derision, 
Madness  or  revelation,  sin  or  prayer, 
What  art  thou?     Is  man's  sum  of  wisdom  this, 
That  he  believe  denying,  and  blaspheme 
Worshipping  still,  and  drink  eternal  bliss 
Out  of  the  maddening  chalice  of  a  dream  ? 
Strange  sweetness  that  embitterest  content, 
Art  thou  a  poison  or  a  sacrament  ? 


CATHEDRALS   BY   THE   SEA 

REPLY  TO   A   SONNET   BEGINNING    "CATHE 
DRALS  ARE  NOT  BUILT  ALONG  THE   SEA" 

FOR  aeons  had  the  self-responsive  tide 

Risen  to  ebb,  and  tempests  blown  to  clear, 

And  the  belated  moon  refilled  her  sphere 

To  wane  anew  —  for,  seons  since,  she  died  — 

When  to  the  deeps  that  called  her  earth  replied 

(Lest  year  should  cancel  unavailing  year) 

And  took  from  her  dead  heart  the  stones  to  rear 

A  cross-shaped  temple  to  the  Crucified. 

Then  the  wild  winds  through  organ-pipes  descended 

To  utter  what  they  meant  eternally, 

And  not  in  vain  the  moon  devoutly  mended 

Her  wasted  taper,  lighting  Calvary, 

While  with  a  psalmody  of  angels  blended 

The  sullen  diapason  of  the  sea. 

122 


MONT   BREVENT 

O  DWELLER  in  the  valley,  lift  thine  eyes 
To  where,  above  the  drift  of  cloud,  the  stone 
Endures  in  silence,  and  to  God  alone 
Upturns  its  furrowed  visage,  and  is  wise. 
There  yet  is  being,  far  from  all  that  dies, 
And  beauty  where  no  mortal  maketh  moan, 
Where  larger  planets  swim  the  liquid  zone, 
And  wider  spaces  stretch  to  calmer  skies. 
Only  a  little  way  above  the  plain 
Is  snow  eternal.     Round  the  mountain's  knees 
Hovers  the  fury  of  the  wind  and  rain. 
Look  up,  and  teach  thy  noble  heart  to  cease 
From  endless  labour.     There  is  perfect  peace 

Only  a  little  way  above  thy  pain. 
123 


THE   RUSTIC   AT   THE    PLAY 

OUR  youth  is  like  a  rustic  at  the  play 
That  cries  aloud  in  simple-hearted  fear, 
Curses  the  villain,  shudders  at  the  fray, 
And  weeps  before  the  maiden's  wreathed  bier. 
Yet  once  familiar  with  the  changeful  show, 
He  starts  no  longer  at  a  brandished  knife, 
But,  his  heart  chastened  at  the  sight  of  woe, 
Ponders  the  mirrored  sorrows  of  his  life. 
So  tutored  too,  I  watch  the  moving  art 
Of  all  this  magic  and  impassioned  pain 
That  tells  the  story  of  the  human  heart 
In  a  false  instance,  such  as  poets  feign ; 
I  smile,  and  keep  within  the  parchment  furled 

That  prompts  the  passions  of  this  strutting  world. 
124 


RESURRECTION 

THE  SOUL  OF  A  BURIED  BODY 

METHOUGHT  that  I  was  dead, 
Felt  my  large  heart,  a  tomb  within  the  tomb, 

Cold,  hope-untenanted, 

Not  thankless  for  this  gloom. 
For  all  I  loved  on  earth  had  fled  before  me. 

I  was  the  last  to  die. 

I  heard  what  my  soul  hated  tramping  o'er  me, 
And  knew  that  trouble  stalked  beneath  the  sky. 
But  now  is  loosed  the  mailed  hand  of  Death 
Clapped  on  my  mouth.     I  seem  to  draw  a  breath 

And  something  like  a  sigh. 
125 


126  RESURRECTION 

I  feel  the  blood  again 
Coursing  within  my  body's  quickened  house, 

Feel  hands  and  throat  and  brain, 

And  dim  thoughts  growing  plain, 
Or  dreams  of  thoughts.     So  spring  might  thaw  the 

boughs 

And  from  its  winter's  lethargy  arouse 
An  oak's  numb  spirit.  —  But  hark  !  I  seem  to  hear 

A  sound,  like  distant  thunder. 
Above  the  quaking  earth  it  breaks,  or  under, 

And  cracks  the  riven  sphere. 
This  vault  is  widened,  I  may  lift  my  head, 
Behold  a  ray  !  The  sun  !  —  I  was  not  dead. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  ETERNITY 

Yes,  dead.     Be  not  affrighted. 
Ages  have  passed.     This  world  is  not  the  same. 
Thy  lamp  of  life,  relighted, 
Burns  with  a  purer  flame. 


RESURRECTION  127 

THE  SOUL 

What  lovely  form  art  thou? 

What  spirit,  voice,  or  face 
Known  and  unknown  ?  I  cannot  name  thee  now 

Nor  the  long-vanished  place 
Where  first  I  pledged  thee  some  forgotten  vow. 

Dear  mother  or  sweet  son 
Or  young  love  dead  or  lost  familiar  friend, 
Which  of  these  all  art  thou,  or  all,  or  none, 

Bright  stranger,  that  dost  bend 

Thy  glorious  golden  head, 
A  kindlier  sun,  above  the  wakened  dead? 

THE  ANGEL 

We  are  not  strangers.     'T  is  the  world  was  strange, 
That  rude  antique  parade  of  earth  and  sky, 
That  foolish  pageant  of  mortality 

And  weary  round  of  change. 
Till  this  glad  moment  thou  hast  lived  in  dreams, 


128  RESURRECTION 

Nursed  in  a  fable,  catechised  to  croon 
The  empty  science  of  a  sun  and  moon 

That  with  their  dubious  beams 
Light  the  huge  dusky  stage  of  all  that  seems. 
Believe  it  not,  my  own.     Awake,  depart 

Out  of  the  shades  of  hell, 

Trusting  the  sacred  spell 
That  falls  upon  thy  strong  perplexed  heart, 

The  joy  ineffable, 
The  nameless  premonition  and  dire  pang 

Of  love.     Be  free  at  last, 

Free  as  the  hopes  that  from  thy  sorrow  sprang. 
Forget  the  horror  of  the  tyrant  past, 

Forget  the  gods,  forget 
The  baleful  shadow  on  the  present  cast 

By  all  that  is  not  yet. 
Arise  and  follow  me.     Say  not  I  seem 

A  shadow  among  shades, 
A  dryad's  laugh  amid  the  windy  glades, 
A  swimmer's  body  guessed  beneath  the  stream 


RESURRECTION  129 

This  is  the  dawn  of  day, 
Thy  dream-oppressed  vision  breaking  through 

Its  icy  hood  of  clay 
And  plunging  deep  into  the  balmy  blue. 

Bid  thy  vain  cares  adieu 
And  say  farewell  to  earth,  thy  foster-mother. 

She  hath  befooled  thee  long, 

And  fondly  thought  to  smother 
The  sweet  and  cruel  laughter  of  my  song 
Which  the  stars  sing  together,  and  the  throng 
Of  seraphs  ever  shout  to  one  another. 

Come,  heaven-chosen  brother, 

Dear  kinsman,  come  along. 

THE  SOUL 

To  what  fields  beside  what  rivers 
Dost  thou  beckon  me,  fair  love  ? 
With  no  sprinkled  stars  above 
Is  high  heaven  seen?  Or  quivers, 


130  RESURRECTION 

With  no  changes  of  the  moon, 
Her  bright  path  athwart  the  pool? 
Is  thy  strange  world  beautiful  ? 
Tell  me  true,  before  I  shake 
From  my  sense  this  heavy  swoon. 
Tell  me  true,  lest  I  awake 
Into  deeper  dreams,  poor  fool, 
And  rejoice  for  nothing's  sake. 

THE  ANGEL 

For  mortals  life  and  truth 
Are  things  apart,  nor  when  the  first  is  done 
Know  they  the  other ;  for  their  lusty  youth 
Is  madness,  and  their  age  oblivion. 

But  henceforth  thou  art  one 

With  the  supernal  mind, 
Not  born  in  labour  nor  in  death  resigned, 

The  life  of  all  that  live, 
The  light  by  whose  eclipse  the  world  is  blind, 


RESURRECTION  131 

The  truth  of  all  that  know, 
The  joy  for  which  we  grieve, 
And  the  untasted  sweet  that  makes  our  woe. 
Now  thou  hast  drained  the  wine 

Shatter  the  glass. 
The  music  was  divine, 

Let  the  voice  pass. 
Linger  not  in  the  host 

Of  the  long  lost 
Bidding  the  dying  bring 
Meal-cakes  and  fruit,  and  sing 

To  cheer  thy  ghost. 
But  be  the  living  joy 

That  tunes  all  song, 
The  loves  of  girl  and  boy, 

The  hopes  that  throng 
The  unconquerable  heart,  defying  wrong. 
Seek  for  thine  immortality  of  bliss 
Not  other  brighter  skies 
Or  later  worlds  than  this, 


I32  RESURRECTION 

But  all  that  in  this  struggle  is  the  prize, 
The  love  that  wings  the  kiss, 
The  truth  the  visions  miss. 

THE  SOUL 

My  heaven  lives,  bright  angel,  in  thine  eyes. 
As  when,  beside  the  Lake  of  Galilee, 

John,  o'er  his  meshes  bent, 
Looked  up,  and  saw  another  firmament 

When  God  said,  Follow  me  ; 
So  is  my  world  transfigured,  seeing  thee, 
And,  looking  in  thine  eyes,  I  am  content, 
And  with  thy  sweet  voice  for  all  argument 
I  leave  my  tangled  nets  beside  the  sea. 
Done  is  my  feigned  task, 

Fallen  the  mask 
That  made  me  other,  O  my  soul,  than  thee. 

I  have  fulfilled  my  pain 

And  borne  my  cross, 

And  my  great  gain 


RESURRECTION  133 

Is  to  have  known  my  loss. 
Keep,  blessed  vision,  keep 
The  sacred  beauty  that  entranced  my  soul. 
I  have  read ;  seal  the  scroll. 
I  have  lived ;  let  me  sleep. 

THE  ANGEL 

Behold,  I  close  thine  eyes 
With  the  first  touch  of  my  benignant  hands. 

With  consecrated  brands 
I  light  thy  pyre  and  loose  thy  spirit's  bands. 
The  eternal  gods  receive  thy  sacrifice, 

The  changeless  bless  thy  embers. 
May  there  arise  from  thence  no  wailing  ghost 

That  shivers  and  remembers 
The  haunts  he  loved,  where  he  hath  suffered  most. 

The  life  that  lived  by  change 

Is  dead,  nor  changeth  more. 
No  eager,  dull,  oblivious  senses  pore 

On  portents  dark  and  strange. 


134  RESURRECTION 

Thy  first  life  was  not  life, 

Nor  was  thy  first  death  death. 
Thy  children  took  thy  heritage  of  strife, 

And  thy  transmutable  breath 
Passed  to  another  heart  that  travaileth. 

Now  thou  hast  truly  died  ; 

Escaped,  renounced,  defied 
The  insensate  fervour  and  the  fret  of  being  -, 

And* thy  own  master,  freed 

From  shame  of  murderous  need, 
Pure,  just,  all-seeing, 

Now  thou  shalt  live  indeed. 

THE  SOUL 

I  pay  the  price  of  birth. 

My  earth  returns  to  earth. 
Hurry  my  ashes,  thou  avenging  wind, 
Into  the  vortex  of  the  whirling  spheres  ! 

I  die,  for  I  have  sinned, 
Yea,  I  have  loved,  and  drained  my  heart  of  tears. 


RESURRECTION  135 

And  thou  within  whose  womb, 
Mother  of  nations,  labouring  Universe, 

My  life  grew,  be  its  tomb. 

Thou  brought'st  me  forth,  take  now  my  vital  seed. 
Receive  thy  wage,  thou  iron-hearted  nurse, 
Thy  blessing  I  requite  thee  and  thy  curse. 

Now  shall  my  ashes  breed 
Within  thy  flesh  for  every  thought  a  thought, 

For  every  deed  a  deed, 

For  every  pang  I  bore 

An  everlasting  need, 
For  every  wrong  a  wrong,  and  endless  war. 

All  earthly  hopes  resigned 

And  all  thy  battle's  spoils 
I  lay  upon  thine  altar  and  restore ; 

But  the  inviolate  mind 

Is  loosened  from  thy  toils 
By  thy  own  fatal  fires.     I  mount,  I  soar, 

Glad  Phoenix,  from  the  flame 
Into  the  placid  heaven  whence  I  came, 


136  RESURRECTION 

Floating  upon  the  smoke's  slow  lurid  wings 
Into  my  native  sky 

To  bear  report  of  all  this  vanity 
And  sad  offence  of  things, 
Where  with  knowledge  I  may  lie, 

Veiled  in  the  shadow  of  eternal  wings. 

THE  ANGEL 

If  in  the  secret  sessions  of  our  love 

Above  the  heavenly  spheres, 
Some  stain  upon  the  page  of  wisdom  prove 

Her  earthly  price  of  tears, 
Cling  closer,  my  beloved,  that  the  beat 

Of  my  unruffled  heart 

May  tune  thy  own,  its  tenderer  counterpart, 
To  noble  courage,  and  from  this  high  seat 

Of  our  divine  repose 
Large  consolation  flow  to  mortal  woes. 

For  'neath  the  sun's  fierce  heat, 
In  midst  of  madness  and  inscrutable  throes, 


RESURRECTION 

His  heart  is  strong  who  knows 
That  o'er  the  mountains  come  the  silent  feet 
Of  Patience,  leading  Peace, 
And  his  complainings  cease 
To  see  the  starlight  shining  on  the  snows. 


TRANSLATIONS 


FROM    MICHAEL    ANGELO 
I 

"  Won  so  se  j'£  la  desiata  luce  " 
I  KNOW  not  if  from  uncreated  spheres 
Some  longed-for  ray  it  be  that  warms  my  breast, 
Or  lesser  light,  in  memory  expressed, 
Of  some  once  lovely  face,  that  reappears, 
Or  passing  rumour  ringing  in  my  ears, 
Or  dreamy  vision,  once  my  bosom's  guest, 
That  left  behind  I  know  not  what  unrest, 
Haply  the  reason  of  these  wayward  tears. 
But  what  I  feel  and  seek,  what  leads  me  on, 
Comes  not  of  me  ;  nor  can  I  tell  aright 
Where  shines  the  hidden  star  that  sheds  this  light, 
Since  I  beheld  thee,  sweet  and  bitter  fight 
Within  me.     Resolution  have  I  none. 
Can  this  be,  Master,  what  thine  eyes  have  done  ? 
141 


142  FROM   MICHAEL  ANGELO 

II 
"Ilmiorefitgio* 

THE  haven  and  last  refuge  of  my  pain 

(A  strong  and  safe  defence) 

Are  tears  and  supplications,  but  in  vain. 

Love  sets  upon  me  banded  with  Disdain, 

One  armed  with  pity  and  one  armed  with  death, 

And  as  death  smites  me,  pity  lends  me  breath. 

Else  had  my  soul  long  since  departed  thence. 

She  pineth  to  remove 

Whither  her  hopes  of  endless  peace  abide 

And  beauty  dwelleth  without  beauty's  pride, 

There  her  last  bliss  to  prove. 

But  still  the  living  fountain  of  my  tears 

Wells  in  the  heart  when  all  thy  truth  appears, 

Lest  death  should  vanquish  love. 


FROM    MICHAEL   ANGELO  143 

III 

"  Gli  occhi  miei  vaghi  delle  cose  belle  " 
RAVISHED  by  all  that  to  the  eyes  is  fair, 
Yet  hungry  for  the  joys  that  truly  bless, 
My  soul  can  find  no  stair 
To  mount  to  heaven,  save  earth's  loveliness. 
For  from  the  stars  above 
Descends  a  glorious  light 
That  lifts  our  longing  to  their  highest  height 
And  bears  the  name  of  love. 
Nor  is  there  aught  can  move 
A  gentle  heart,  or  purge  or  make  it  wise, 
But  beauty  and  the  starlight  of  her  eyes. 


FROM   ALFRED   DE   MUSSET 

SOUVENIR 

I  WEEP,  but  with  no  bitterness  I  weep, 
To  look  again  upon  thee,  hallowed  spot, 
O  dearest  grave,  and  most  of  men  forgot, 
Where  buried  love  doth  sleep. 

What  witchcraft  think  you  that  this  desert  hath, 
Dear  friends,  who  take  my  hand  and  bid  me  stay, 
Now  that  the  gentle  wont  of  many  a  day 
Would  lead  me  down  this  path? 

Here  are  the  wooded  slopes,  the  flowering  heath, 
The  silver  footprints  on  the  silent  sand, 
The  loitering  lanes,  alive  with  lovers'  breath, 

Where  first  I  kissed  her  hand. 
144 


FROM   ALFRED   DE   MUSSET  145 

I  know  these  fir-trees,  and  this  mossy  stone, 
And  this  deep  gorge,  and  all  its  winding  ways ; 
These  friendly  giants,  whose  primeval  moan 
Hath  rocked  my  happy  days. 

My  footsteps'  echo  in  this  tangled  tree 
Gives  back  youth's  music,  like  a  singing  bird  ; 
Dear  haunts,  fair  wilderness  her  presence  stirred, 
Did  you  not  watch  for  me  ? 

I  will  not  dry  these  tear-drops  :  let  them  flow, 
And  soothe  a  bitterness  that  yet  might  last, 
And  o'er  my  waking-weary  eyelids  throw 
The  shadow  of  the  past. 


My  useless  plainings  shall  not  make  to  cease 
The  happy  echoes  of  the  vows  we  vowed  : 
Proud  is  this  forest  in  its  noble  peace, 
And  my  heart  too  is  proud. 


10 


I46  FROM   ALFRED   DE   MUSSET 

Give  o'er  to  hopeless  grief  the  bitter  hours 
You  kneel  to  pray  upon  a  brother's  tomb  : 
Here  blows  the  breath  of  love,  and  graveyard  flowers 
Not  in  this  garden  bloom. 

See  !     The  moon  rides  athwart  a  bank  of  cloud. 
Thy  veils,  fair  Queen  of  Night,  still  cling  to  thee, 
But  soon  thou  loosenest  thy  virgin  shroud 
And  smilest  to  be  free. 

As  the  rich  earth,  still  dank  with  April  rain, 
Beneath  thy  rays  exhales  day's  captive  balm, 
So  from  my  purged  soul,  as  pure,  as  calm, 
The  old  love  breathes  again. 

Where  are  they  gone,  those  ghosts  of  sorrow  pale, 
Where  fled  the  passion  that  my  heart  defiled  ? 
Once  in  the  bosom  of  this  friendly  vale 
I  am  again  a  child. 


FROM    ALFRED   DE    MUSSET  147 

0  might  of  time,  O  changes  of  the  year, 
Ye  undo  sorrow  and  the  tears  we  shed, 
But,  touched  with  pity,  on  our  blossoms  sere 

Your  light  feet  never  tread. 

Heavenly  solace,  be  for  ever  blest ! 

1  had  not  thought  a  sword  could  pierce  so  far 
Into  the  heart,  and  leave  upon  the  breast 

So  sweet  and  dear  a  scar. 

Far  from  me  the  sharp  word,  the  thankless  mind, 
Of  vulgar  sorrow  customary  weed, 
Shroud  that  about  the  corse  of  love  they  wind 
Who  never  loved  indeed. 

Why,  Dante,  dost  thou  say  the  saddest  curse 
Is  joy  remembered  in  unhappy  days  ? 
What  grief  compelled  thee  to  this  bitter  verse 
In  sorrow's  harsh  dispraise? 


148  FROM   ALFRED   DE   MUSSET 

O'er  all  the  worlds  is  light  bereft  of  gladness 
When  sad  eclipses  cast  their  blight  on  us? 
Did  thy  great  soul,  in  its  immortal  sadness, 
Speak  to  thee,  Dante,  thus? 


No,  by  this  sacred  light  upon  me  cast ! 
Not  in  thy  heart  this  blasphemy  had  birth. 
It  is  the  truest  happiness  on  earth 
To  have  a  happy  past. 

What !     When  the  soul  forlorn  finds  yet  a  spark 
Mid  the  hot  ashes  of  her  stifled  sighs, 
And  doth  that  flame,  her  only  treasure,  mark 
With  captivated  eyes, 

Bathing  her  wounds  in  the  delicious  past 
That  mirrors  brokenly  her  loves  again, 
Thy  cruel  word  her  feeble  joy  would  blast 
And  turn  to  bitter  pain? 


FROM   ALFRED   DE   MUSSET  149 

And  couldst  thou  wrong  thine  own  Francesca  so, 
Wrong  thy  bright  angel  with  a  word  like  this, 
Her  whose  lips,  parting  to  rehearse  her  woe, 
Broke  an  eternal  kiss? 

What,  righteous  Heaven,  is  our  human  thought, 
And  to  the  love  of  truth  who  yet  will  cling, 
If  every  pain  or  joy  e'er  shunned  or  sought 
Turns  to  a  doubtful  thing? 

How  can  you  live,  strange  souls  that  nothing  awes  ? 
In  midst  of  haste  and  passion,  song  and  mirth, 
Nor  all  the  stars  of  heaven  give  you  pause, 
Nor  all  the  sins  of  earth  ; 

But  when  upon  your  fated  way  you  meet 
Some  dumb  memorial  of  a  passion  dead, 
That  little  pebble  stops  you,  and  you  dread 
To  bruise  your  tender  feet. 


150  FROM   ALFRED    DE  MUSSET 

You  cry  aloud  that  life  is  but  a  dream, 
And,  to  the  truth  awaking,  wring  your  hands, 
And  grieve  your  bubble  but  a  moment  stands 
Upon  time's  foaming  stream. 

Poor  fools  !  That  moment  when  your  soul  could  shake 
The  numbing  fetters  off  that  it  enthrall, 
That  fleeting  moment  was  your  all  in  all  — 
Oh,  mourn  not  for  its  sake  ! 

But  rather  mourn  your  weight  of  earthly  dross, 
Your  joyless  toil,  your  stains  of  blood  and  mire, 
Your  sunless  days,  your  nights  without  desire ; 
In  these  was  utter  loss. 


What  profit  have  you  of  your  late  lament, 
And  what  from  heaven  do  your  murmurs  crave, 
The  plaints  you  sow  upon  the  barren  grave 
Of  every  pleasure  spent  ? 


FROM    ALFRED    DE   MUSSET  151 

Life  is  a  dream,  and  all  things  pass,  I  know : 
If  some  fair  splendour  we  be  charmed  withal, 
We  pluck  the  flower,  and  at  the  breath  we  blow 
Its  withered  petals  fall. 

Ay,  the  first  kiss  and  the  first  virgin  vow 
That  ever  mortals  upon  earth  did  swear, 
That  whirlwind  caught  which  strips  the  frozen  bough 
And  stones  to  sand  doth  wear. 


A  witness  to  the  lovers'  troth  was  night, 
With  changeful  skies,  o'ercast  with  mystery, 
And  stars  unnumbered,  that  an  inward  light 
Devours  unceasingly. 

They  saw  death  hush  the  song  bird  in  the  glade, 
Blast  the  pale  flower,  and  freeze  the  torpid  worm, 
And  choke  the  fountain  where  the  image  played 
Of  their  forgotten  form. 


152  FROM   ALFRED    DE   MUSSET 

Yet  they  joined  hands  above  the  mouldering  clod, 
Blind  with  love's  light  that  flashed  across  the  sky, 
Nor  felt  the  cold  eye  of  the  changeless  God 
Who  watches  all  things  die. 


Fools  !  says  the  sage  :  thrice  blest !  the  poet  says. 
What  wretched  joy  is  to  the  faint  heart  dear 
Whom  noise  of  torrents  fills  with  weak  amaze 
And  the  wind  fills  with  fear? 

I  have  seen  beneath  the  sun  more  beauties  fail 
Than  white  sea  foam  or  leaves  of  forest  sere  ; 
More  than  the  swallows  and  the  roses  frail 
Desert  the  widowed  year. 

Mine  eyes  have  gazed  on  sights  of  deeper  woe 
Than  Juliet  dead  within  the  gorged  tomb, 
And  deadlier  than  the  cup  that  Romeo 
Drank  to  his  love  and  doom. 


FROM   ALFRED   DE    MUSSET  153 

I  have  seen  my  love,  when  all  I  loved  had  perished, 
Who  to  a  whited  sepulchre  is  turned  ; 
Seen  the  thin  dust  of  all  I  ever  cherished 
In  her  cold  heart  inurned, — 

Dust  of  that  faith  which,  in  our  bosoms  furled, 
The  gentle  night  had  warded  well  from  doubt. 
More  than  a  single  life,  alas  !  a  world 
Was  that  day  blotted  out. 

Still  young  I  found  her,  and,  men  said,  more  fair ; 
In  heaven's  light  her  eyes  could  still  rejoice, 
And  her  lips  opened,  and  a  smile  was  there, 
And  sound  as  of  a  voice. 

But  not  that  gentle  voice,  that  tender  grace, 

Those    eyes    I    worshipped  when  they  looked  their 

prayer : 

My  heart,  still  full  of  her,  searched,  searched  her  face 
And  could  not  find  her  there. 


154  FROM   ALFRED   DE   MUSSET 

And  still  I  could  have  gone  to  her,  and  cast 
My  arms  about  that  chill  and  lifeless  stone, 
And  cried,  Where  hast  thou  left  it,  faithless  one, 
Where  hast  thou  left  the  past? 

But  no  :  it  rather  seemed  as  if  by  chance 
Some  unknown  woman  had  that  voice  and  eye ; 
I  looked  up  into  heaven ;  with  cold  glance 
I  passed  that  statue  by. 

Not  without  pangs  of  shame  and  bitterness 
I  watched  her  smiling  shadow  glide  away ; 
But  what  of  that  ?     Immortal  nature,  say, 
Have  I  loved  therefore  less  ? 


On  me  the  gods  may  now  their  lightnings  fling. 
They  cannot  undo  truth,  nor  kill  the  past. 
Like  a  wrecked  sailor  to  a  broken  mast 
To  my  dead  love  I  cling. 


FROM    ALFRED    DE    MUSSET  155 

I  make  no  question  of  what  flowers  may  bloom, 
What  virtue  from  the  seasons  man  may  borrow, 
What  heavenly  lamp  may  flood  with  light  to-morrow 
The  vault  of  this  great  tomb. 

I  only  say :   Here  at  this  hour,  one  day, 
I  loved,  and  I  was  loved,  and  she  was  fair. 
This  treasure  which  no  death  can  filch  away 
My  soul  to  God  shall  bear. 


FROM   THEOPHILE   GAUTIER 

ART 

ALL  things  are  doubly  fair 
If  patience  fashion  them 

And  care  — 
Verse,  enamel,  marble,  gem. 

No  idle  chains  endure  : 
Yet,  Muse,  to  walk  aright, 

Lace  tight 
Thy  buskin  proud  and  sure. 

Fie  on  a  facile  measure, 
A  shoe  where  every  lout 
At  pleasure 

Slips  his  foot  in  and  out ! 
156 


FROM   THEOPHILE   GAUTIER  157 

Sculptor,  lay  by  the  clay 

On  which  thy  nerveless  finger 

May  linger, 
Thy  thoughts  flown  far  away. 

Keep  to  Carrara  rare, 
Struggle  with  Pares  cold, 

That  hold 
The  subtle  line  and  fair. 


Lest  haply  nature  lose 

That  proud,  that  perfect  line, 

Make  thine 
The  bronze  of  Syracuse. 

And  with  a  tender  dread 
Upon  an  agate's  face 

Retrace 
Apollo's  golden  head. 


158  FROM   THEOPHILE   GAUTIER 

Despise  a  watery  hue 
And  tints  that  soon  expire. 

With  fire 
Burn  thine  enamel  true. 


Twine,  twine  in  artful  wise 
The  blue-green  mermaid's  arms, 

Mid  charms 
Of  thousand  heraldries. 

Show  in  their  triple  lobe 
Virgin  and  Child,  that  hold 

Their  globe, 
Cross-crowned  and  aureoled. 

—  All  things  return  to  dust 
Save  beauties  fashioned  well. 

The  bust 
Outlasts  the  citadel. 


FROM    THEOPHILE   GAUTIER  159 

Oft  doth  the  ploughman's  heel, 
Breaking  an  ancient  clod, 

Reveal 
A  Caesar  or  a  god. 


The  gods,  too,  die,  alas  ! 

But  deathless  and  more  strong 

Than  brass 
Remains  the  sovereign  song. 

Chisel  and  carve  and  file, 
Till  thy  vague  dream  imprint 

Its  smile 
On  the  unyielding  flint. 


CONVIVIAL  AND    OCCASIONAL 
VERSES 


PROSIT  NEUJAHR 

BE  the  new  year  sweet  and  short 
As  the  days  of  girl  and  boy  are, 
Full  of  friendship,  full  of  sport  — 
Prosit  Neujahr  / 

Be  it  beautiful  and  great 

As  the  days  of  grief  and  joy  are, 
Full  of  wonder  and  of  fate  — 
Prosit  Neujahr! 


163 


FAIR   HARVARD 

FAIR  Harvard,  the  winter  of  Puritan  snows 
That  enshrouded  thy  tremulous  birth 

Melts  slowly  to  spring,  now  the  south  wind  blows 
O'er  the  face  of  this  generous  earth. 

Thy  elms  are  outspreading  their  flexible  arms 
Over  meadows  more  fruitful  and  broad, 

And  soft  ivy  is  veiling  with  negligent  charms 
The  gaunt  walls  of  the  castle  of  God. 

With  freedom  for  heritage,  reason  for  star, 

And  friendship  for  sojourner  here, 
Shall  music  long  tremblingly  sound  from  afar 

Or  genius  be  smothered  in  fear? 
164 


FAIR   HARVARD  165 

Where  the  ages  may  meet  and  the  spirit  may  climb 

To  a  truth  that  is  builded  on  doubt, 
The  eternal  may  dwell  mid  the  currents  of  time 

And  peace  above  barbarous  rout, 

And  the  just  voice  unlearn  to  be  strident  and  sharp, 

And,  attuned  to  life's  happier  choir, 
Join  the  stress  of  all  David  might  shout  to  his  harp 

With  all  Lysis  might  lisp  to  his  lyre, 

And  Olympia  again  call  the  strong  and  the  fleet 

To  glory  and  art  and  control, 
And  a  deathless  Academy  build  a  retreat 

To  ponder  the  things  of  the  soul. 

If  to  glory,  young  Mother,  thy  destiny  tend, 

If  thy  labours  have  honour  in  store, 
Our  loves  shall  not  die,  though  their  chronicle  end 

Nor  mortals  remember  us  more. 


166  FAIR   HARVARD 

For  once  from  their  dreaming  the  man  and  the  boy, 

Fair  Harvard,  awoke  at  thy  name, 
And  our  happiest  years  were  a  part  of  thy  joy, 

And  our  light  was  a  spark  of  thy  flame. 


COLLEGE   DRINKING  SONG 

As  we  say  good-bye  at  the  parting  ways, 
Let  us  sing  together  a  song  of  praise, 
Let  us  drink  a  toast  to  our  college  days, 
To  the  walks  through  a  world  made  for  you  and  me, 
To  the  boisterous  farce  and  the  echoing  glee, 
To  the  wonderful  A  and  the  dreadful  E, 
Drink,  boys,  drink  ! 

To  the  games  we  won  and  the  games  we  lost, 
For  we  could  n't  tell  which  before  we  tossed, 
And  who  cares  now  who  paid  the  cost  ? 
To  the  woman's  love  that  came  and  went, 
To  the  good  wine  drunk  and  the  money  spent, 
To  the  night-long  foolish  argument, 

Drink,  boys,  drink  ! 
167 


168  COLLEGE   DRINKING   SONG 

To  the  times  when  men  were  men  indeed, 
To  our  fathers'  youth  and  our  mothers'  creed, 
And  to  every  faith  that  may  succeed, 
To  the  after  age  and  the  later  tongue 
That  will  ring  the  changes  we  have  rung 
And  sing  the  songs  we  have  left  unsung, 
Drink,  boys,  drink  ! 

When  the  eye  is  dull  and  the  hand  is  cold, 
Then  should  the  pocket  be  full  of  gold, 
For  no  one  will  love  us  when  we  're  old. 
So  to  vulgar  gold  and  what  it  gets 
And  an  honest  end  to  all  our  debts, 
For  an  old  wine  softens  old  regrets, 
Drink,  boys,  drink ! 

When  we  are  asleep  beneath  grey  stone, 

Our  children's  lives  shall  repeat  our  own, 

For  the  light  remains  though  the  days  be  flown. 


COLLEGE   DRINKING   SONG  169 

To  the  opening  buds  of  this  ended  May, 
And  to  all  sweet  things  that  will  not  stay, 
And  to  every  dog  that  has  had  his  day, 
Drink,  boys,  drink ! 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS 

TWELVE  had  struck.     Our  talk  subsided. 

We  were  comrades  in  the  schools 
By  the  world  awhile  divided  — 

Six  sententious  merry  fools. 
And  I  said,  "  We  Ve  talked  of  college, 

Resurrecting  callow  youth. 
But  you  since  have  lived ;  what  knowledge 

Have  you  gathered  of  the  Truth? 
And  you  first,  most  learned  scholar, 

Whom  I  'm  proud  to  sit  beside, 
Speak  :  does  wisdom  sans  a  dollar 

Leave  you  wholly  satisfied? 
You  have  walked,  and  never  wavered, 

In  the  paths  the  sages  took 
170 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  171 

And  three  publishers  have  favoured 

With  a  yet  unpublished  book. 
The  soul's  garden  you  have  weeded 

Which  we  mortals  trample  through, 
You  love  much  we  leave  unheeded. 

Speak,  and  let  us  learn  of  you." 
And  the  student  thus  proceeded, 

As  a  gentle  sigh  he  drew : 


THE  SCHOLAR 

I  'm  thankful  that  as  matters  go 

I  neither  toil  nor  spin, 
But  read  the  good  old  wits,  heigh  ho  ! 

And  live  with  elder  kin ; 

That  I  need  neither  reap  nor  sow 

Nor  gather  into  barns, 
But  dwell  among  my  books,  heigh  ho ! 

Repeating  ancient  yarns. 


172  SIX  WISE   FOOLS 

Dead  things  are  not  my  science,  no, 
Nor  fossil  parts  of  speech, 

But  the  great  human  heart,  heigh  ho  ! 
That  pedants  never  reach. 

The  record  of  man's  joy  and  woe 
Upon  his  sculptured  face 

I  read  by  my  heart's  light,  heigh  ho  ! 
And  vanquish  time  and  space. 

I  find  no  vice  so  foul  and  low 
But  nature  lurks  therein, 

Nor  any  thought  so  high,  heigh  ho  ! 
But  pays  the  price  of  sin. 

I  feel  the  pity  and  the  glow 
Of  truth's  sublime  communion, 

And  learn  to  smile  at  fate,  heigh  ho ! 
In  friendship's  happy  union. 

Let  this  but  last  till  death's  wind  blow 
And  till  my  bones  are  rotten, 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  173 

Then  let  the  world  sail  on,  heigh  ho  ! 
And  be  my  name  forgotten. 


"  Now  you,  votary  of  pleasure," 
Turning  to  the  next,  I  said, 
"  Count  the  profit  of  your  leisure 
And  the  cost  of  unearned  bread. 
Tell  us  what  civilisation 
Merits  your  impartial  praise, 
In  what  climate,  in  what  nation 
You  have  spent  most  joyous  days." 
Quoth  he,  as  if  in  admiration 
That  such  questions  I  should  raise : 

THE  SPORT 

All  things  are  nice  when  they  are  new, 
When  they  are  old,  all  things  are  horrid. 
After  the  storm  I  like  the  blue, 
After  the  arctic  zone  the  torrid. 


174  SIX   WISE   FOOLS 

My  loves  are  many,  brief,  and  true, 
By  mutual  jealousy  unworried. 

I  like  to  leave  my  house  and  home 
And  cross  the  mountains  and  the  sea ; 
With  one  small  bag  on  earth  to  roam, 
That  is  the  height  of  bliss  for  me. 
To  roam  on  earth  without  my  bag, 
That  is  the  depth  of  misery. 

That  freedom  cheats  us  with  a  word 
Which  sets  up  knaves  and  murders  kings. 
What  soul  is  free  that  never  stirred  ? 
Go  cut  your  mother's  apron-strings, 
And  putting  money  in  your  purse, 
Fly  off  on  the  express-train's  wings. 

I'll  stay  at  home  when  I  am  lame, 
And  build  a  church  when  stuffed  with  gold, 
I  will  be  grave  when  known  to  fame, 
I  will  be  chaste  when  I  am  old. 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  175 

Then  all  the  angels  will  rejoice 
That  I,  lost  lamb,  regain  the  fold. 

"  Without  some  evil,  nothing  good," 

Your  subtle  theologians  say. 

I  glorify  their  rectitude 

By  straying  in  my  artless  way. 

My  needful  sins  make  possible 

The  higher  morals  of  the  day. 

This  is  our  only  chance  to  taste 
The  sweet  and  bitter  fruits  of  earth. 
To  pluck  them  all,  we'  ve  need  of  haste  ; 
We  cannot  ask  what  each  is  worth. 
Up,  up,  wise  virgin ;  do  not  waste 
The  little  time  'twixt  death  and  birth. 

Come  feel  the  joy  of  changing  skies, 
Of  rushing  streams  and  windy  weather. 
Though  we  be  bound  by  fortune's  ties, 
We'  11  to  the  utmost  stretch  the  tether, 


1 76  SIX   WISE   FOOLS 

And  be  they  gay  or  be  they  sad, 
We'  11  go  and  see  the  sights  together. 

THE  CRITIC 

"Shall  men  agree?"  the  next  man  said, 
"  Each  mind  is  shut  within  some  head 
{Pace  the  minds  of  all  the  dead) 
With  two  eyes,  seldom  of  a  size, 
And  spectacles  before  the  eyes. 
Then,  if  men  differ,  what  surprise  ? 

"  See  the  wight  who  wrapped  in  sadness 
Grieves  how  soon  this  life  is  done, 

And,  disgusted  with  the  madness 
Of  the  way  the  world  is  run, 

Scorns  the  hollowness  of  gladness 
And  the  idiocy  of  fun  : 
Why,  the  spots  upon  the  sun 

Can  be  seen,  when  the  ray  passes 
Blue  eye-glasses. 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  177 

"  And  what  makes  the  moonlight  shimmer 

With  the  dancing  of  the  sea 
And  the  little  stars  cold  glimmer 

Twinkle  with  an  inward  glee 
While  this  working-world  grows  dimmer 
If  my  Mary  looks  with  me  ? 
Not  the  moon  or  stars  or  sea, 
But  the  fickle  cause,  alas,  is 
Love's  eye-glasses. 


"  Oh,  how  sad  a  world  to  cough  in 

Is  a  world  once  warm  and  fair, 
And  how  many  fallings  off  in 

Old  men's  world  of  falling  hair, 
Till  they  think  within  the  coffin 

That  there  's  no  world  anywhere. 

For  I  fancy  dead  men  wear 
(Take  your  look  now,  lads  and  lasses  !) 
No  eye-glasses." 

12 


i;8  SIX  WISE   FOOLS 

He  stopped,  and  with  a  civil  look 
Said  to  his  neighbour,  "You  come  next," 
Who  had  been  looking  at  a  book 
And  seemed  a  trifle  bored  and  vexed. 
He  laid  the  book  down,  stretched  his  legs 
And  yawned,  and,  emptying  his  glass, 
Made  a  grimace  as  if  the  dregs 
Were  bitter,  and  replied,  "  I  pass." 
When  pressed,  he  shook  his  languid  head 
Until  at  last  he  hemmed  and  said : 


THE  PESSIMIST 

I  set  my  heart  on  being  good, 
Believed  the  Bible  to  the  letter, 
Yes,  joined  a  Christian  brotherhood 
When  I  was  young  and  knew  no  better ; 
And,  if  I  sometimes  sinned,  I  wept 
That  God's  commandments  were  not  kept. 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  179 

As  time  went  on,  I  understood 
That  it  was  wrong  to  be  so  good. 


My  heart  I  set  on  being  wise 
And  passing  for  a  clever  fellow : 
Reading  o'  nights  I  spoilt  my  eyes, 
And  lack  of  fresh  air  turned  me  yellow. 
Each  book  I  read  said  t'  other  lied, 
I  saw  the  less  the  more  I  pried, 
And  so  I  found,  to  my  surprise, 
I  was  a  fool  to  be  so  wise. 

I  set  my  heart  on  making  friends 
Pleasant  and  clever,  kind  and  witty ; 
They  now  are  at  the  earth's  four  ends, 
Two  only  have  n't  left  the  city. 
The  one  is  given  up  to  trade, 
The  other  in  the  churchyard  laid. 
And  when  youth  's  gone  and  leisure  ends, 
It  is  too  late  for  making  friends. 


i8o  SIX   WISE   FOOLS 

I  set  my  heart  upon  a  girl 
Who  chose  at  my  approach  to  smile. 
Did  she  but  pat  some  frizzled  curl, 
I  knew  the  angel  free  from  guile. 
But  now  a  rich  man  owns  my  belle, 
I  find  the  others  smile  as  well, 
And  my  moustache  no  more  I  twirl, 
Nor  set  my  heart  upon  a  girl. 

I  set  my  heart  on  seeing  things, 

And  wished  through  every  land  to  travel, 

See  Troja's  ruins,  Nilus'  springs, 

And  culture's  history  unravel. 

When  many  a  sea  had  made  me  sick, 

Men  still  were  bipeds,  houses  brick. 

Since  nearer  Truth  no  journey  brings 

I  make  an  end  of  seeing  things. 

I  set  my  heart  on  politics ; 

I  glowed  for  honesty  and  freedom. 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  181 

My  earnest  thoughts  I  tried  to  fix 
Upon  the  poor,  and  how  to  feed  'em. 
But  the  reformer  cheats  himself, 
He  serves  his  prejudice  or  pelf, 
And  no  man's  will  but  inward  fate 
Governs  the  fortunes  of  the  state. 

I  set  my  heart  on  nothing  now, 
But  bless  the  gifts  of  every  hour, 
Holding  my  hand  beneath  life's  bough 
To  catch  the  fruit  or  falling  flower. 
With  the  world  breathing  at  my  feet, 
I  find  the  sunset  stillness  sweet, 
And  with  the  night  wind  on  my  brow 
I  set  my  heart  on  nothing  now. 

He  scarce  had  done,  when  the  last  man, 
Who  'd  listened  hard  to  every  word, 
Thus,  rising  in  his  place,  began 
As  if  impatient  to  be  heard  : 


182  SIX   WISE   FOOLS 

THE  LOVER 

Oh,  you  men  who  are  not  married 
Have  n't  known  the  joy  of  living, 
On  the  margin  you  have  tarried, 
Never  putting  out  to  sea ; 
All  your  musing,  all  your  grieving, 
Is  a  childish  thing  to  me. 

I  have  done  with  idle  moping 
And  have  seen  my  manly  duty. 
There  is  no  more  doubt  and  groping, 
Since  I  took  a  woman's  hand, 
And  the  loadstar  of  her  beauty 
Led  me  to  the  promised  land. 

For  her  sake  my  work  is  pleasure 
And  I  thrive  in  my  devotion, 
Though  I  seek  repute  and  treasure 
But  to  have  the  gifts  to  give, 
For  my  love,  like  River  Ocean, 
Rounds  the  world  in  which  I  live. 


SIX   WISE   FOOLS  183 

When  I  feel,  in  softest  slumber, 
Her  fair  head  upon  my  pillow, 
I  think  how  the  misty  Humber 
And  the  Ganges'  holy  stream 
Send  their  treasures  o'er  the  billow 
To  embalm  my  lady's  dream. 

Rightly  did  my  father  rear  me 
Close  beside  the  village  steeple, 
Rightly  shall  my  sons  revere  me 
When  they  come  to  take  my  place, 
For  I  serve  my  land  and  people 
And  maintain  my  sturdy  race. 

Fill  your  glasses  up  with  liquor, 
Drink  it  down  while  yet  it  bubbles. 
When  the  heart  beats  quick  and  quicker 
Love  is  knocking.     Drink  with  me  : 
Here  is  death  to  all  your  troubles, 
And  long  life,  fair  love,  to  thee  ! 


184  SIX   WISE   FOOLS 

"Yes,  fill  your  glasses  up,  I  pray  you," 
Said  I,  "  and  make  it  bumpers  now, 
For  whatsoever  passion  sway  you 
Some  noble  love  we  all  avow. 

"  We  bear  a  mark,  an  inward  token, 
That  parts  us  from  the  common  herd. 
To  each  of  us  some  muse  has  spoken 
A  holy,  unforgotten  word. 

u  Our  stars,  conjoined  in  youth's  first  season, 
Whether  to  musing  moved  or  strife, 
Obedient  to  one  touch  of  reason 
Together  make  the  round  of  life. 

"  Drink  to  the  loves  we  knitted  here, 
A  bond  by  distance  not  undone. 
High  thoughts  outlive  the  wasted  year; 
I  drink  to  that  which  makes  us  one." 


ATHLETIC  ODE 

I  HEAR  a  rumour  and  a  shout, 
A  louder  heart-throb  pulses  in  the  air. 
Fling,  Muse,  thy  lattice  open,  and  beware 

To  keep  the  morning  out. 
Beckon  into  the  chamber  of  thy  care 
The  bird  of  healing  wing 

That  trilleth  there 

Blithe  happy  passion  of  the  strong  and  fair. 
Their  wild  heart  singeth.     Do  thou  also  sing. 

How  vain,  how  vain 
The  feeble  croaking  of  a  reasoning  tongue 

That  heals  no  pain 

And  prompts  no  bright  deed  worthy  to  be  sung ! 
Too  soon  cold  earth 

Refuses  flowers.     Oh,  greet  their  lovely  birth  ! 
185 


186  ATHLETIC   ODE 

Too  soon  dull  death 
Quiets  the  heaving  of  our  doubtful  breath. 

Deem  not  its  worth 
Too  high  for  honouring  mirth ; 
Sing  while  the  lyre  is  strung, 
And   let  the    heart   beat,    while    the    heart    is 
young. 

When  the  dank  earth  begins  to  thaw  and  yield 
The  early  clover,  didst  thou  never  pass 
Some  balmy  noon  from  field  to  sunny  field 
And  press  thy  feet  against  the  tufted  grass? 

So  hadst  thou  seen 

A  spring  palaestra  on  the  tender  green. 
Here  a  tall  stripling,  with  a  woman's  face, 
Draws  the  spiked  sandal  on  his  upturned  heel, 

Sure-footed  for  the  race  ; 
Another  hurls  the  quoit  of  heavy  steel 

And  glories  to  be  strong ; 
While  yet  another,  lightest  of  the  throng, 


ATHLETIC   ODE  187 

Crouching  on  tiptoe  for  the  sudden  bound, 
Flies  o'er  the  level  race-course,  like  the  hound, 

And  soon  is  lost  afar ; 

Another  jumps  the  bar, 
For  some  god  taught  him  easily  to  spring, 
The  legs  drawn  under,  as  a  bird  takes  wing, 
Till,  tempting  fortune  farther  than  is  meet, 
At  last  he  fails,  and  fails,  and  vainly  tries, 
And  blushing,  and  ashamed  to  lift  his  eyes, 

Shakes  the  light  earth  from  his  feet. 

Him  friendly  plaudits  greet 
And  pleasing  to  the  unaccustomed  ear. 
Come  then  afield,  come  with  the  sporting  year 

And  watch  the  youth  at  play, 
For  gentle  is  the  strengthening  sun,  and  sweet 
The  soul  of  boyhood  and  the  breath  of  May. 

And  with  the  milder  ray 
Of  the  declining  sun,  when  sky  and  shore, 
In  purple  drest  and  misty  silver-grey. 


i88  ATHLETIC   ODE 

Hang  curtains  round  the  day, 
Come  list  the  beating  of  the  plashing  oar, 
For  grief  in  rhythmic  labour  glides  away. 
The  glancing  blades  make  circles  where  they  dip, 

Now  flash  and  drip 
Cool  wind-blown  drops  into  the  glassy  river, 

Now  sink  and  cleave, 

While  the  lithe  rowers  heave 
And  feel  the  boat  beneath  them  leap  and  quiver. 

The  supple  oars  in  time, 
Shattering  the  mirror  of  the  rippled  water, 

Fly,  fly  as  poets  climb, 
Borne  by  the  pliant  promise  of  their  rhyme, 
Or  as  bewitched  by  Nereus'  loveliest  daughter 
The  painted  dolphins,  following  along, 
Leap  to  the  measure  of  her  liquid  song. 

But  the  blasts  of  late  October, 
Tempering  summer's  paling  grief 
With  a  russet  glow  and  sober, 


ATHLETIC   ODE  189 

Bring  of  these  sports  the  latest  and  the  chief. 

Then  bursts  the  flame  from  many  a  smouldering  ember, 

And  many  an  ardent  boy 
Woos  harsher  pleasures  sweeter  to  remember, 
Hugged  with  a  sterner  and  a  tenser  joy. 

Look  where  the  rivals  come  : 
Each  little  phalanx  on  its  chosen  ground 
Strains  for  the  sudden  shock,  and  all  around 

The  multitude  is  dumb. 

Come,  watch  the  stubborn  fight 

And  doubtful,  in  the  sight 
Of  wide-eyed  beauty  and  unstinted  love 

Ay,  the  wise  gods  above, 
Attentive  to  this  hot  and  generous  fray, 
Smile  on  its  fortunes  and  its  end  prepare, 
For  play  is  also  life,  and  far  from  care 

Their  own  glad  life  is  play. 

Ye  nymphs  and  fauns,  to  Bacchus  dear, 
That  woke  Cithaeron  with  your  midnight  rout, 


190  ATHLETIC   ODE 

Arise,  arise  and  shout ! 
Your  day  returns,  your  haunt  is  here. 
Shake  off  dull  sleep  and  long  despair ; 
There  is  intoxication  in  this  air, 
And  frenzy  in  this  yelping  cheer. 
How  oft  of  old  the  enraptured  Muses  sung 

Olympian  victors'  praise. 

Lo  !  even  in  these  days 
The  world  is  young. 

Life  like  a  torrent  flung 

For  ever  down 

For  ever  wears  a  rainbow  for  a  crown. 
O  idle  sigh  for  loveliness  outworn, 
When  the  red  flush  of  each  unfailing  morn 

Floods  every  field  and  grove, 
And  no  moon  wanes  but  some  one  is  in  love. 

O  wasted  tear, 

A  new  soul  wakes  with  each  awakened  year. 
Beneath  these  rags,  these  blood-clots  on  the  face, 
The  valiant  soul  is  still  the  same,  the  same 


ATHLETIC    ODE  191 

The  strength,  the  art,  the  inevitable  grace, 

The  thirst  unquenched  for  fame 
Quenching  base  passion,  the  high  will  severe, 
The  long  obedience,  and  the  knightly  flame 
Of  loyalty  to  honour  and  a  name. 

Give  o'er,  ye  chords,  your  music  ere  ye  tire, 

Be  sweetly  mute,  O  lyre. 

Words  soon  are  cold,  and  life  is  warm  for  ever. 
One  half  of  honour  is  the  strong  endeavour, 
Success  the  other,  but  when  both  conspire 
Youth  has  her  perfect  crown,  and  age  her  old  desire. 


THE  BOTTLES   AND  THE   WINE 

LINES   READ   AT  THE   REUNION   OF   A 
COLLEGE   CLUB 

WOULD  you  have  an  illustration 

Of  the  thing  we  fellows  are  ? 
Liken  every  generation 

To  the  bottles  in  the  bar : 
Vessels  full  of  precious  liquor 

Standing  in  their  brave  array,  — 
Never  bosom  friends  were  thicker 

Or  of  franker  heart  than  they, 
There  congenially  hobnobbing, 

Always  ready  for  a  bout, 
As  half  laughing  and  half  sobbing 

The  fine  spirits  bubble  out. 
192 


THE    BOTTLES    AND    THE   WINE       193 

We  buy,  break,  drink,  waste,  decant  them  — 

Bottles  come  and  bottles  go  — 
Yet  there  always,  when  you  want  them, 

Stand  the  bottles  in  a  row : 
Port  and  sherry,  rum  and  brandy, 

Irish,  Bourbon,  Scotch,  and  rye, 
Always  smiling,  always  handy 

When  the  heart 's  a  trifle  dry. 

Though  the  bottles  change  their  label 

And  tag  on  another  name, 
They  're  as  welcome  at  the  table, 

For  the  liquor 's  still  the  same. 
Days  gone  by  saw  jugs  in  plenty, 

Now  less  frequently  on  view. 
Every  year  some  ten  or  twenty 

Pass  to  fields  and  pastures  new. 
There,  replenished,  they  grow  fatter 

And  their  bellies  bulge  amain, 
But  though  full  as  yet  of  matter, 
13 


194        THE   BOTTLES   AND   THE   WINE 

You  may  mark  a  certain  drain, 
For  the  busy  world's  contention 

Brings  the  liquid  down  a  bit, 
And  a  small  god  I  won't  mention 

Sometimes  takes  a  pull  at  it. 
Yet  apart  from  some  mischances, 

Though  not  standing  where  they  stood, 
For  big  dinners  and  small  dances 

Our  old  bottles  still  are  good. 
But  when  once  the  dregs  are  emptied, 

We  throw  bottles  in  a  heap, 
Not  one  favourite  exempted, 

Were  its  spirit  fine  or  cheap. 
They  're  doled  out  in  the  back  alley 

By  the  scrawny  hands  of  hags 
When  gaunt  Death  comes  shilly-shally 

Crying,  "  Bottles  and  old  rags  !  " 
What  of  that?     While  face  and  feature, 

Manners,  minds,  and  pleasures  pass, 
Nature  breeds  a  younger  creature, 


THE    BOTTLES    AND    THE   WINE       195 

Mate  to  what  the  other  was, 
And  the  sports  we  had  forsaken, 

And  the  fancies  blown  away 
In  the  brighter  souls  they  waken 

Live  for  ever  and  a  day. 
The  proud  glories  that  entice  us 

No  more  fail  because  we  pass 
Than  the  founts  of  Dionysus 

For  the  quaffing  of  a  glass. 

But  what  happens  to  the  liquor? 

The  old  bottles'  fate  to  share, 
Only  that  its  flight  is  quicker 

Up  the  vortices  of  air  ? 
Is  it  lost  as  soon  as  tasted, 

Rising  upon  moth-like  wings 
To  be  caught  and  scorched  and  wasted 

In  this  foolish  flame  of  things  ? 
Ah,  the  blood  of  nature's  spilling 

Trickles  back  into  her  veins, 


196        THE   BOTTLES   AND   THE   WINE 

And  her  cup  is  ever  filling 

With  the  vintage  that  she  strains. 
For  a  moment  she  befriends  us 

With  unsealing  of  our  eyes, 
But  the  light  of  life  she  lends  us 

Floods  her  everlasting  skies. 
The  sweet  wine  that  makes  our  passion 

Linking  heart  to  mortal  heart 
Is  her  ancient  fire  to  fashion 

All  the  marvels  of  her  art. 
It  has  painted  woman's  beauty, 

It  is  parent  to  the  flowers, 
It  has  wedded  joy  to  duty, 

Portioned  loves  among  the  hours, 
Built  us  palaces  and  churches, 

Plucked  its  music  from  the  lyre, 
Lighted  all  the  spirit's  searches 

Through  the  mazes  of  desire, 
Yes,  and  scorning  earthly  places 

And  our  human  loves  and  wars 


THE   BOTTLES    AND    THE   WINE       197 

It  has  peopled  heaven's  spaces 
And  has  gilded  heaven's  stars. 

Drink,  then,  of  this  cup  and  drain  it. 

Let  the  wine  renew  the  soul, 
And  all  vessels  that  contain  it, 

May  they  long  be  sound  and  whole 
To  receive  the  boon  and  give  it 

That  makes  mortal  joys  divine. 
Here  's  to  life  and  all  who  live  it, 

To  the  bottles  and  the  wine. 


THE    POETIC    MEDIUM 

IN  Chelsea  dwells  a  Sibyl  known  to  fame 

Called  Mrs.  Fakir  —  necromantic  name  ! 

Past,  present,  future,  open  to  her  view 

She  (for  ten  dollars)  will  reveal  to  you. 

I  for  less  sums  —  the  discount  to  the  trade  — 

Quaff  at  her  fount  and  seek  her  undismayed. 

I  found  the  priestess  in  her  wonted  lair 

Up  three  steep  flights  of  narrow  dirty  stair. 

Chill  was  the  darkened  chamber.     A  thick  fume 

Of  kerosene  lent  odour  to  the  gloom. 

Clothed  in  black  weeds,  pale,  with  delirious  hair, 

Rocked  Mrs.  Fakir  in  her  rocking-chair. 

I  told  my  errand ;  with  some  hushed  complaint 

About  the  fee,  she  fell  into  a  faint, 
198 


THE    POETIC   MEDIUM  199 

Thrice  rolled  her  eyes,   thrice  snorted   through  her 

nose, 

Thrice  wrung  her  hands,  and  wriggled  thrice  her  toes, 
Then  spoke.     (I  versify  :  she  uttered  vulgar  prose.) 
"  You  want  some  verse  :  not  every  poet's  soul 
Whose  aid  you  crave  is  still  in  my  control. 
Whom  would  you  summon  ?    You  must  ask  the  boon 
Of  some  frail  wight  that  floats  below  the  moon. 
The  spirits  that  have  risen  to  the  stars 
Reck  not  the  echoes  of  our  earthly  jars. 
Their  troubles  past,  they  have  forgotten  ours, 
And  move  unmoved  by  even  magic  powers. 
Only  weak  souls  entangled  in  the  mesh 
Of  passion,  dying,  still  are  bond  to  flesh, 
And  hover  o'er  the  battle-field  of  life 
To  smell  their  kindred  blood  and  pine  for  strife. 
Such  I  may  summon,  for  they  have  no  choice 
Who  crave  to  live  again  and  find  a  voice." 
"  T  is  well,"  I  answered.    "  If  the  gods  so  please, 
We  will  not  call  on  Aristophanes, 


200  THE   POETIC   MEDIUM 

Horace  shall  slumber,  Juvenal  be  dumb. 

They  rest  in  peace.     But  haply  Swift  will  come." 

"  Not  Swift,"  she  said,  "  not  Swift.     I  cannot  tell 

Whether  he  flew  to  heaven  or  to  hell, 

But  he  is  gone  far  from  this  mild,  low-born, 

And  canting  age,  incapable  of  scorn." 

"  Well,  summon  Byron,  then,"  I  said  and  sighed. 

"  Byron  is  also  safe,"  the  witch  replied. 

"The  first  sin  punished  and  the  first  forgiven 

Is  love's,  the  slip  of  climbers  into  heaven. 

The  petted  passion  and  the  shallow  dream 

He  purged  at  last ;  the  heart  survived  supreme." 

"Byron  gone  too,"  thought  I,  "  what  wit  remains? 

All  younger  sprites  have  water  in  their  veins. 

But,  ah  !  might  not  the  living  help  me  out? 

Don't  phantoms  of  the  living  flit  about?" 

"  They  do,  they  do,"  quoth  Chelsea's  Pythoness. 

"  Here  in  my  telepathic  cave's  recess 

All  that  they  say  or  think  or  wish  or  feel 

I  read  aloud,  but  most  what  they  conceal. 


THE    POETIC   MEDIUM  201 

Whom  would  you  plagiarise  ?     You  're  silent  ?     Why, 

Have  you  forgot  the  ages  galaxy  — 

I  trembled  as  she  named  them  one  by  one, 

From  Willy  Frilly  down  to  Spider  Spun. 

"  Spare  me,"  I  cried.    "  Shall  some  prolific  bard 

Reel  off  bright  lyrics  at  a  cent  a  yard, 

All  about  April  rain,  December  snow, 

The  brook,  the  sunset,  and  the  squawking  crow? 

Shall  little  Swinburnes  turn  a  verse  with  ease 

And  sing  the  flaccid  pleasures  of  disease  ? 

Shall  mimics,  drunk  with  each  Castalian  rill, 

Be  any  poet  but  themselves  at  will, 

Luscious  when  Keats,  when  Spenser  quaint  and  dull, 

When  Browning  turgid,  and  Noodles  null  ? 

Shall  weaklings,  in  thick  verse  and  tortured  prose, 

Strike  affectation's  quintessential  pose, 

Sniffing  the  odours  of  a  perfumed  brain 

Where  melts  a  Wordsworth  plus  a  Paul  Verlaine? 

When,  with  no  art,  were  precious  fabrics  wrought, 

When  metaphysics  with  no  mastering  thought? 


202  THE   POETIC   MEDIUM 

No,  Mrs.  Fakir,  none  of  this  small  fry. 
Catch  me  some  ghost  of  sense,  or  else  good-bye. 
Not  at  my  bidding  shall  this  choir  prolong 
The  cloying  drivel  of  unmeaning  song, 
Enrich  the  echo,  maul  the  note  and  tease, 
Miauling  nothing  in  a  hundred  keys. 
Better  Pope's  squirrel  eye  and  polished  sneer 
Than  idiot  mouthings,  false  without  veneer. 
Better  Boileau's  *  monotony  in  wire,' 
Dressing  good  wit  in  periwigged  attire ; 
For  in  a  garden's  alleys  or  a  wood 
Hung  all  in  green,  monotony  is  good, 
And  a  frail  stem  may  need  a  bit  of  wire 
To  keep  the  rose  from  trailing  in  the  mire. 
Never  will  they  dig  deep  or  build  for  time 
Who  of  unreason  weave  a  maze  of  rhyme, 
Worship  a  weakness,  nurse  a  whim,  and  bind 
Wreaths  about  temples  tenantless  of  mind, 
Forsake  the  path  the  seeing  Muses  trod, 
And  shatter  Nature  to  discover  God. 


THE   POETIC   MEDIUM  203 

He  only  climbs  the  skies  and  proudly  sings 
Whose  heart,  attentive,  feels  the  pulse  of  things, 
Masters  the  fact,  and  hails  the  changeless  goal 
That  beckons,  purges,  and  fulfils  the  soul." 
I  ceased  :  no  ghost  was  willing  to  befriend, 
And  all  the  living  useless  to  my  end. 
Meantime  the  hag  awoke  with  vacant  stare, 
And  passed  her  bony  fingers  through  her  hair. 
I  left  her  den  and  hastened  back  to  town, 
Writing  the  while  my  sad  experience  down. 
This  you  have  heard.     'T  is  little  that  I  give, 
But  it  makes  sense.     Long,  masters,  may  you  live. 


YOUNG  SAMMY'S   FIRST   WILD 
OATS 

LINES    WRITTEN   BEFORE   THE   PRESIDENTIAL 
ELECTION   OF    1900 

MID  Uncle  Sam's  expanded  acres 

There  's  an  old,  secluded  glade 
Where  grey  Puritans  and  Quakers 

Still  grow  fervid  in  the  shade  ; 
And  the  same  great  elms  and  beeches 

That  once  graced  the  ancestral  farm, 
Bending  to  the  old  men's  speeches, 

Lend  their  words  an  echo's  charm. 
Laurel,  clematis,  and  vine 

Weave  green  trellises  about, 
And  three  maples  and  a  pine 

Shut  the  mucker-village  out. 

Yet  the  smoke  of  trade  and  battle 
204 


YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD   OATS     205 

Cannot  quite  be  banished  hence, 
And  the  air-line  to  Seattle 

Whizzes  just  behind  the  fence. 


As  one  day  old  Deacon  Plaster 

Hobbled  to  the  wonted  nook, 
There  was  Doctor  Wise,  the  pastor, 

Meekly  sitting  with  his  book. 
"  What  has  happened,  Brother  Deacon, 

That  you  look  so  hot  and  vexed  ? 
Is  it  something  I  might  speak  on 

When  I  preach  on  Sabbath  next?  " 
"  Doctor  Wise,"  replied  the  other, 

As  he  wiped  the  sweat  away, 
"  'T  is  a  wicked  sin,  my  brother, 

You  should  preach  on  every  day. 
Cousin  Sammy 's  gone  a-tooting 

To  the  Creole  County  fair, 
Where  the  very  sun  's  polluting 

And  there  's  fever  in  the  air 


206     YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD   OATS 

He  has  picked  up  three  young  lasses, 

Three  mulattoes  on  the  mart, 
Who  have  offered  him  free  passes 

To  their  fortune  and  their  heart. 
One  young  woman  he  respected, 

Vowed  he  only  came  to  woo. 
But  his  word  may  be  neglected 

Since  he  ravished  the  other  two. 
In  the  Porto  Rican  billing 

And  carousing,  I  allow 
That  the  little  minx  was  willing, 

Though  she  may  be  sorry  now. 
But  what  came  of  those  embraces 

And  that  taint  of  nigger  blood  ? 
Now  he  looks  on  outraged  faces 

And  can  laugh,  defying  God  : 
He  can  stretch  his  hand,  relieving, 

And  strike  down  a  cheated  slave. 
Oh,  if  Uncle  Sam  were  living, 

This  would  bring  him  to  his  grave  !  " 


YOUNG   SAMMY'S   FIRST   WILD   OATS      207 

Deacon  Plaster  ceased  and,  sighing, 

Mopped  the  reeking  of  his  brain. 
Doctor  Wise,  before  replying, 

Put  his  goggles  on  again. 
"  Brother  Plaster,  to  be  candid, 

Were  I  managing  the  farm, 
I  should  do  as  the  old  man  did  — 

Lying  low  and  safe  from  harm, 
Shoot  at  poachers  from  the  hedges, 

If  they  ventured  within  range, 
Just  round  out  my  acre's  edges, 

Grow  and  grow,  but  never  change. 
I  am  old,  and  you  are  old,  sir : 

Old  the  thoughts  we  live  among. 
If  the  truth  were  to  be  told,  sir, 

None  of  us  was  ever  young. 
In  the  towns  of  sombre  Britain  — 

Merry  England  turned  about  — 
We  were  marked  at  birth  and  smitten 

Whom  the  Lord  had  chosen  out ; 


208     YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD    OATS 

Picked  to  found  a  pilgrim  nation, 

Far  from  men,  estranged,  remote, 
With  the  desert  for  a  station 

And  the  ocean  for  a  moat ; 
To  rebuke  by  sober  living, 

In  the  dread  of  wrath  to  come, 
Of  the  joys  of  this  world's  giving 

The  abominable  sum. 
Yet  all  passion's  seeds  came  smuggled 

In  our  narrow  pilgrim  ark, 
And,  unwatered,  grew  and  struggled, 

Pushed  for  ages  through  the  dark, 
And,  when  summer  granted  pardon, 

Burst  into  the  upper  air, 
Till  that  desert  was  a  garden 

And  that  sea  a  thoroughfare, 
Thus  the  virtue  we  rely  on 

Melted  'neath  the  heathen  sun, 
And  what  should  have  been  a  Zion 

Came  to  be  this  Babylon. 


YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD    OATS      209 

Ignorant  of  ancient  sorrow, 

With  hot  young  blood  in  their  veins, 
Now  the  prophets  of  the  morrow 

Ply  the  spur  and  hold  the  reins. 
Can  we  blame  them  ?     Rather  blame  us,  — 

Us,  who  uttered  idle  things. 
Our  false  prophecies  shall  shame  us, 

And  our  weak  imaginings. 
Liberty  !  delicious  sound  ! 

The  world  loved  it,  and  is  free. 
But  what 's  freedom  ?     To  be  bound 

By  a  chance  majority. 
Few  are  rich  and  many  poor, 

Though  all  minds  show  one  dull  hue. 
Equality  we  don't  secure, 

Mediocrity  we  do. 
Ah  !  what  dreams  beguiled  our  youth  ! 

Brothers  we  had  hoped  to  be ; 
But  competition  is  the  truth 

Of  what  we  called  fraternity. 


210     YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD    OATS 

Can  we  blame  them  we  mistaught 

If  now  they  seek  another  guide 
And,  since  our  wisdom  comes  to  naught, 

Take  counsel  of  their  proper  pride  ? 
Nature  beckons  them,  inviting 

To  a  deeper  draught  of  fate, 
And,  the  heart's  desire  inciting, 

Can  we  stop  and  bid  them  wait  ? 

"If  old  Uncle  Sam  were  living, 

This,  you  say,  should  never  be  ; 
Ah  !  if  Uncle  Sam  were  living, 

He  might  weep,  but  he  must  see. 
Yet  he  died  in  time,  believing 

In  the  gods  that  ruled  his  days. 
We,  alas  !  survive  him,  grieving 

Under  gods  we  will  not  praise. 
The  keen  pleasures  of  December 

Mean  the  joys  of  April  lost ; 
And  shall  rising  suns  remember 


YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD   OATS      211 

All  the  dream  worlds  they  have  crossed  ? 
All  things  mortal  have  their  season  : 

Nothing  lives,  for  ever  young, 
But  renews  its  life  by  treason 

To  the  thing  from  which  it  sprung, 
And  when  man  has  reached  immortal 

Mansions,  after  toiling  long, 
Life  deserts  him  at  the  portal, 

And  he  only  lives  in  song. 

"  As  for  Sam,  the  son,  I  wonder 

If  you  know  the  fellow's  heart : 
There  may  yet  be  something  under 

Nobler  than  the  outer  part. 
When  he  told  that  senorita 

That  he  kissed  and  hugged  her  close 
Like  a  brother,  did  he  cheat  her? 

Did  he  cheat  himself?    Who  knows? 
That  he  liked  her,  that  is  certain ; 

That  he  wronged  her  is  n't  true. 


212     YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD   OATS 

On  his  thoughts  I  draw  the  curtain  : 

I  don't  know  them,  nor  do  you. 
In  her  maid,  the  facile  Rica, 

We  have  quite  another  case. 
Hardly  did  he  go  to  seek  her, 

When  she  rushed  to  his  embrace. 
I  confess  it  was  improper, 

But  all  flesh,  alas  !  is  flesh. 
Things  had  gone  too  far  to  drop  her ; 

Each  was  in  the  other's  mesh. 
But  with  that  poor  Filipina, 

When  she  shrank  from  his  caress, 
His  contemptible  demeanour 

Is  n't  easy  to  express. 
First  he  bought  her,  then  he  kicked  her ; 

But  the  truth  is,  he  was  drunk, 
For  that  day  had  crowned  him  victor, 

And  a  Spanish  fleet  was  sunk. 


YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST   WILD    OATS      213 

"  You  perceive  I  do  not  spare  him, 

Nor  am  blinded  to  his  motes 
By  the  Christian  love  I  bear  him ; 

Yes ;  he  's  sowing  his  wild  oats. 
But  you  can't  deny  him  talent ; 

Once  his  instinct  is  awake, 
He  can  play  the  part  of  gallant 

And  of  soldier  and  of  rake. 
And  it 's  something  to  have  spirit 

Though  in  rashness  first  expressed. 
Give  me  good  blood  to  inherit : 

Time  and  trial  do  the  rest. 
He  's  not  Uncle  Sam,  the  father, 

That  prim,  pompous,  pious  man, 
Yankee,  or  Virginian,  rather  : 

Sammy  's  an  American  — 
Lavish,  clever,  loud,  and  pushing, 

Loving  bargains,  loving  strife, 
Kindly,  fearless-eyed,  unblushing, 

Not  yet  settled  down  in  life. 


214     YOUNG   SAMMY'S   FIRST    WILD   OATS 

Send  him  forth ;  the  world  will  mellow 

His  bluff  youth,  or  nothing  can. 
Nature  made  the  hearty  fellow, 

Life  will  make  the  gentleman. 
And  if  Cousin  Sam  is  callow, 

It  was  we  who  did  the  harm, 
Letting  his  young  soul  lie  fallow  — 

The  one  waste  spot  in  the  farm  — 
Trained  by  sordid  inventories 

To  scorn  all  he  could  n't  buy, 
Puffed  with  miserable  glories 

Shouted  at  an  empty  sky, 
Fooled  with  cant  of  a  past  era, 

Droned  'twixt  dreamy  lid  and  lid, 
Till  his  God  was  a  chimera 

And  the  living  God  was  hid. 
Let  him  look  up  from  his  standard 

To  the  older  stars  of  heaven, 
Seaward  by  whose  might,  and  landward, 

All  the  tribes  of  men  are  driven ; 


YOUNG   SAMMY'S    FIRST    WILD   OATS      215 

By  whom  ancient  hopes  were  blasted, 

Ancient  labours  turned  to  dust ; 
Whence  the  little  that  has  lasted 

Borrows  patience  to  be  just : 
And  beholding  tribulation, 

Seeing  whither  states  are  hurled, 
Let  him  sign  his  declaration 

Of  dependence  on  the  world." 

Thus  the  Doctor's  sermon  ended ; 

The  old  Deacon  shook  his  head, 
For  his  conscience  was  offended 

And  his  wits  had  lost  the  thread. 
So  have  mine,  but  there  's  my  fable : 

Now,  and  when  you  cast  your  votes, 
Be  as  lenient  as  you  're  able 

On  "  Young  Sammy's  First  Wild  Oats." 


SPAIN  IN  AMERICA 

WHEN  scarce  the  echoes  of  Manila  Bay, 
Circling  each  slumbering  billowy  hemisphere, 
Had  met  where  Spain's  forlorn  Armada  lay 
Locked  amid  hostile  hills,  and  whispered  near 
The  double  omen  of  that  groan  and  cheer  — 
Haste  to  do  now  what  must  be  done  anon 
Or  some  mad  hope  of  selling  triumph  dear 
Drove  the  ships  forth  :  soon  was  Teresa  gone, 
Furor,  Pluton,  Vizcaya,  Oquendo,  and  Colon. 

And  when  the  second  morning  dawned  serene 
O'er    vivid    waves    and    foam-fringed   mountains, 

dressed 

Like  Nessus  in  their  robe's  envenomed  sheen, 
Scarce  by  some  fiery  fleck  the  place  was  guessed 
Where  each  hulk  smouldered ;  while  from  crest  to 

crest 

216 


SPAIN    IN    AMERICA  217 

Leapt  through  the  North  the  news  of  victory, 
Victory  tarnished  by  a  boorish  jest 
Yet  touched  with  pity,  lest  the  unkindly  sea 
Should  too  much  aid  the  strong  and  leave  no  enemy. 

As  the  anguished  soul,   that    gasped  for  difficult 

breath, 

Passes  to  silence  from  its  house  of  pain, 
So  from  those  wrecks,  in  fumes  of  lurid  death, 
Passed  into  peace  the  heavy  pride  of  Spain, 
Passed  from  that  aching  tenement,  half  fain, 
Back  to  her  castled  hills  and  windy  moors, 
No  longer  tossed  upon  the  treacherous  main 
Once  boasted  hers,  which  with  its  watery  lures 
Too  long  enticed  her  sons  to  unhallowed  sepultures. 

Why  went  Columbus  to  that  highland  race, 
Frugal  and  pensive,  prone  to  love  and  ire, 
Despising  kingdoms  for  a  woman's  face, 
For  honour  riches  and  for  faith  desire  ? 


218  SPAIN   IN   AMERICA 

On  Spain's  own  breast  was  snow,  within  it  fire ; 
In  her  own  eyes  and  subtle  tongue  was  mirth ; 
The  eternal  brooded  in  her  skies,  whence  nigher 
The  trebled  starry  host  admonished  earth 
To  shame  away  her  grief  and  mock  her  baubles'  worth. 

Ah  !  when  the  crafty  Tyrian  came  to  Spain 
To  barter  for  her  gold  his  motley  wares, 
Treading  her  beaches  he  forgot  his  gain. 
The  Semite  became  noble  unawares. 
Her  passion  breathed  Hamilcar's  cruel  prayers ; 
Her  fiery  winds  taught  Hannibal  his  vows ; 
Out  of  her  tribulations  and  despairs 
They  wove  a  sterile  garland  for  their  brows. 
To  her  sad  ports  they  fled  before  the  Roman  prows. 

And  the  Greek  coming  too  forgot  his  art, 
And  that  large  temperance  which  made  him  wise. 
The  wonder  of  her  mountains  choked  his  heart, 
The  languor  of  her  gardens  veiled  his  eyes ; 


SPAIN    IN   AMERICA  219 

He  dreamed,  he  doubted ;  in  her  deeper  skies 
He  read  unfathomed  oracles  of  woe, 
And  stubborn  to  the  onward  destinies, 
Like  some  dumb  brute  before  a  human  foe, 
Sank   in    Saguntum's     flames    and    deemed     them 
brighter  so. 

The  mighty  Roman  also  when  he  came, 
Bringing  his  gods,  his  justice,  and  his  tongue, 
Put  off  his  greatness  for  a  sadder  fame, 
And  what  a  Caesar  wrought  a  Lucan  sung. 
Nor  was  the  pomp  of  his  proud  music,  wrung 
From  Latin  numbers,  half  so  stern  and  dire, 
Nor  the  sad  majesties  he  moved  among 
Half  so  divine,  as  her  unbreathed  desire. 
Shall  longing  break  the  heart  and  not  untune  the  lyre? 

When  after  many  conquerors  came  Christ, 

The  only  conqueror  of  Spain  indeed, 

Not  Bethlehem  nor  Golgotha  sufficed 

To  show  him  forth,  but  every  shrine  must  bleed 


220  SPAIN    IN   AMERICA 

And  every  shepherd  in  his  watches  heed 
The  angels'  matins  sung  at  heaven's  gate. 
Nor  seemed  the  Virgin  Mother  wholly  freed 
From  taint  of  ill  if  born  in  frail  estate, 
But  shone  the  seraphs'  queen  and  soared  immaculate. 

And  when  the  Arab  from  his  burning  sands 
Swept  o'er  the  waters  like  a  heavenly  flail, 
He  took  her  lute  into  his  conquering  hands, 
And  in  her  midnight  turned  to  nightingale. 
With  woven  lattices  and  pillars  frail 
He  screened  the  pleasant  secrets  of  his  bower, 
Yet  little  could  his  subtler  arts  avail 
Against  the  brutal  onset  of  the  Giaour. 
The  rose  passed  from  his  courts,  the  muezzin  from  his 
tower. 

Only  one  image  of  his  wisdom  stayed, 
One  only  relic  of  his  magic  lore,  — 
Allah  the  Great,  whom  silent  fate  obeyed, 
More  than  Jehovah  calm  and  hidden  more, 


SPAIN    IN  AMERICA  221 

Allah  remained  in  her  heart's  kindred  core 
High  witness  of  these  terrene  shifts  of  wrong. 
Into  his  ancient  silence  she  could  pour 
Her  passions'  frailty  —  He  alone  is  strong  — 
And  chant  with  lingering  wail  the  burden  of  her  song. 

Seizing  at  Covadonga  the  rude  cross 
Pelayo  raised  amid  his  mountaineers, 
She  bore  it  to  Granada,  one  day's  loss 
Ransomed  with  battles  of  a  thousand  years. 
A  nation  born  in  harness,  fed  on  tears, 
Christened  in  blood,  and  schooled  in  sacrifice, 
All  for  a  sweeter  music  in  the  spheres, 
All  for  a  painted  heaven  —  at  a  price 
Should  she   forsake  her  loves   and  sail  to   Ind   for 
spice  ? 

Had  Genoa  in  her  merchant  palaces 
No  welcome  for  a  heaven-guided  son  ? 
Had  Venice,  mistress  of  the  inland  seas, 
No  ships  for  bolder  venture  ?     Pisa  none  ? 


222  SPAIN    IN   AMERICA 

Was  sated  Rome  content  ?     Her  mission  done  ? 
Saw  Lusitania  in  her  seaward  dreams 
No  floating  premonition,  beckoning  on 
To  vast  horizons,  gilded  yet  with  gleams 
Of   old    Atlantis,    whelmed     beneath    the    bubbling 
streams  ? 

Or  if  some  torpor  lay  upon  the  South, 
Tranced  by  the  might  of  memories  divine, 
Dwelt  no  shrewd  princeling  by  the  marshy  mouth 
Of  Scheldt,  or  by  the  many  mouths  of  Rhine  ? 
Rode  Albion  not  at  anchor  in  the  brine 
Whose  throne  but  now  the  thrifty  Tudor  stole 
Changing  a  noble  for  a  crafty  line  ? 
Swarmed  not  the  Norsemen  yet  about  the  pole, 
Seeking  through   endless  mists  new   havens  for  the 
soul? 

These    should   have    been   thy  mates,   Columbus, 

these 
Patrons  and  partners  of  thy  enterprise, 


SPAIN    IN    AMERICA  223 

Sad  lovers  of  immeasurable  seas, 
Bound  to  no  hallowed  earth,  no  peopled  skies. 
No  ray  should  reach  them  of  their  ladies'  eyes 
In  western  deserts  :  no  pure  minstrel's  rhyme, 
Echoing  in  forest  solitudes,  surprise 
Their  heart  with  longing  for  a  sweeter  clime. 
These,  these    should  found  a  world  who    drag   no 
chains  of  time. 

In  sooth  it  had  seemed  folly,  to  reveal 

To  stubborn  Aragon  and  evil-eyed 

These  perilous  hopes,  folly  to  dull  Castile 

Moated  in  jealous  faith  and  walled  in  pride, 

Save  that  those  thoughts,  to  Spain's  fresh   deeds 

allied, 

Painted  new  Christian  conquests,  and  her  hand 
Itched  for  that  sword,  now  dangling  at  her  side, 
Which  drove  the  Moslem  forth  and  purged  the 

land. 
And    then  she  dreamed  a  dream  her   heart  could 

understand. 


224  SPAIN    IN    AMERICA 

Three  caravels,  a  cross  upon  the  prow, 
A  broad  cross  on  the  banner  and  the  sail, 
The  liquid  fields  of  Hesperus  should  plough 
Borne  by  the  leaping  waters  and  the  gale. 
Before  that  sign  all  hellish  powers  should  quail 
Troubling  the  deep :  no  dragon's  obscene  crest, 
No  serpent's  slimy  coils  should  aught  avail, 
Till  ivory  cities  looming  in  the  west 
Should   gleam   from    high    Cathay     or     Araby    the 
Blest. 

Then,  as  with  noble  mien  and  debonair 

The  captains  from  the  galleys  leapt  to  land, 

Or  down  the  temple's  alabaster  stair 

Or  by  the  river's  marge  of  silvery  sand, 

Proud  Sultans  should  descend   with   outstretched 

hand 

Greeting  the  strangers,  and  by  them  apprised 
Of   Christ's   redemption   and   the    Queen's  com 
mand, 


SPAIN    IN    AMERICA  225 

Being  with  joy  and  gratitude  baptised, 
Should  lavish  gifts  of  price  by  rarest  art  devised. 

Or  if  (since  churls  there  be)  they  should  demur 
To  some  least  point  of  fealty  or  faith, 
A  champion,  clad  in  arms  from  crest  to  spur, 
Should  challenge  the  proud  caitiffs  to  their  death 
And,  singly  felling  them,  from  their  last  breath 
Extort  confession  that  the  Lord  is  lord, 
And  India's  Catholic  queen,  Elizabeth. 
Whereat  yon  turbaned  tribes,  with  one  accord, 
Should    beat  their  heathen   breasts   and   ope    their 
treasures'  horde. 

Or,  if  the  worst  should  chance  and  high  debates 
Should  end  in  insult  and  outrageous  deed, 
And,  many  Christians  rudely  slain,  their  mates 
Should  summon  heaven  to  their  direful  need, 
Suddenly  from  the  clouds  a  snow-white  steed 
Bearing  a  dazzling  rider  clad  in  flames 
Should  plunge  into  the  fray :  with  instant  speed 


226  SPAIN    IN   AMERICA 

Rout  all  the  foe  at  once,  while  mid  acclaims 
The  slaughtered  braves    should    rise,  crying,  Saint 
James  !    Saint  James  / 

Then,  the  day  won,  and  its  bright  arbiter 
Vanished,  save  for  peace  he  left  behind, 
Each  in  his  private  bosom  should  bestir 
His  dearest  dream  :  as  that  perchance  there  pined 
Some  lovely  maiden  of  angelic  mind 
In  those  dark  towers,  awaiting  out  of  Spain 
Two  Saviours  that  her  horoscope  divined 
Should  thence  arrive.    She  (womanlike)  were  fain 
Not  to  be  wholly  free,  but  wear  a  chosen  chain. 

That  should  be  youth's  adventure.     Riper  days 
Would  crave  the  guerdon  of  a  prouder  power 
And  pluck  their  nuggets  from  an  earthly  maze 
For  rule  and  dignity  and  children's  dower. 
And  age  that  thought  to  near  the  fatal  hour 
Should  to  a  magic  fount  descend  instead, 
Whose  waters  with  the  fruit  revive  the  flower 


SPAIN    IN   AMERICA  227 

And  deck  in  all  its  bloom  the  ashen  head, 
Where  a  green  heaven  spreads,  not  peopled  of  the 
dead. 


By  such  false  meteors  did  those  helmsmen  steer, 
Such  phantoms  filled  their  vain  and  vaulting  souls 
With  divers  ardours,  while  this  brooding  sphere 
Swung  yet  ungirdled  on  her  silent  poles. 
All  journeys  took  them  farther  from  their  goals, 
All  battles  won  defeated  their  desire, 
Barred  from  one  India  by  the  other's  shoals, 
Each  sighted  star  extinguishing  its  fire, 
Cape  doubled  after  cape,  and  never  haven  nigher. 

How  many  galleons  sailed  to  sail  no  more, 

How  many  battles  and  how  many  slain, 

Since  first  Columbus  touched  the  Cuban  shore, 

Till  Aurocania  felt  the  yoke  of  Spain  ! 

What  mounting  miseries  !     What  dwindling  gain  ! 

To  till  those  solitudes,  soon  swept  of  gold, 


228  SPAIN    IN    AMERICA 

And  bear  that  ardent  sun,  across  the  main 
Slaves  must  come  writhing  in  the  festering  hold 
Of  galleys.  —  Poison  works,   though    men   be  brave 
and  bold. 

That  slothful  planter,  once  the  buccaneer, 
Lord  of  his  bastards  and  his  mongrel  clan, 
Ignorant,  harsh,  what  could  he  list  or  hear 
Of  Europe  and  the  heritage  of  man? 
No  petty  schemer  sees  the  larger  plan, 
No  privy  tyrant  brooks  the  mightier  law, 
But  lash  in  hand  rides  forth  a  partisan 
Of  freedom  :  base,  without  the  touch  of  awe, 
He  poisoned  first  the  blood  his  poniard  was  to  draw. 

By  sloth  and  lust  and  mindlessness  and  pelf 
Spain  sank  in  sadness  and  dishonour  down, 
Each  in  her  service  serving  but  himself, 
Each  in  his  passion  striking  at  her  crown. 
Not  that  these  treasons  blotted  her  renown 
Emblazoned  higher  than  such  hands  can  reach : 


SPAIN   IN    AMERICA  229 

There  where  she  reaped  but  sorrow  she  has  sown 
The  balm  of  sorrow ;  all  she  had  to  teach 
She  taught  the  younger  world  —  her  faith  and  heart 
and  speech. 

And  now  within  her  sea-girt  walls  withdrawn 
She  waits  in  silence  for  the  healing  years, 
While  where  her  sun  has  set  a  second  dawn 
Comes   from   the   north,   with    other    hopes   and 

fears. 
Spain's  daughters  stand,   half  ceasing   from  their 

tears, 

And  watch  the  skies  from  Cuba  to  the  Horn. 
"  What  is  this  dove  or  eagle  that  appears," 
They  seem  to  cry,  "  what  herald  of  what  morn 
Hovers    o'er   Andes'    peaks    in    love    or    guile    or 

scorn?  " 

"  O  brooding  Spirit,  fledgling  of  the  North, 
Winged  for  the  levels  of  its  shifting  light, 
Child  of  a  labouring  ocean  and  an  earth 


230  SPAIN    IN   AMERICA 

Shrouded  in  vapours,  fear  the  southward  flight, 
Dread  vvaveless  waters  and  their  warm  delight, 
Beware  of  peaks  that  cleave  the  cloudless  blue 
And  hold  communion  with  the  naked  night. 
The  souls  went  never  back  that  hither  flew, 
But  sighing  fell  to  earth  or  broke  the  heavens  through. 

"  Haunt  still  thy  storm-swept  islands,  and  endure 
The  shimmering  forest  where  thy  visions  live. 
Then  if  we  love  thee  —  for  thy  heart  is  pure  — 
Thou  shalt  have  something  worthy  love  to  give. 
Thrust  not  thy  prophets  on  us,  nor  believe 
Thy  sorry  riches  in  our  eyes  are  fair. 
Thy  unctuous  sophists  never  will  deceive 
A  mortal  pang,  or  charm  away  despair. 
Not  for  the  stranger's  fee  we  plait  our  lustrous  hair. 

"  But  of  thy  lingering  twilight  bring  some  gleam, 
Memorial  of  the  immaterial  fire 
Lighting  thy  heart,  and  to  a  wider  dream 
Waken  the  music  of  our  plaintive  lyre. 


SPAIN    IN   AMERICA  231 

Check  our  rash  word,  hush,  hush  our  base  desire. 
Hang  paler  clouds  of  reverence  about 
Our  garish  skies  :  laborious  hope  inspire 
That  uncomplaining  walks  the  paths  of  doubt, 
A  wistful  heart  within,  a  mailed  breast  without. 

"  Gold  found  is  dross,  but  long  Promethean  art 
Transmutes  to  gold  the  unprofitable  ore. 
Bring  labour's  joy,  yet  spare  that  better  part 
Our  mother,  Spain,  bequeathed  to  all  she  bore, 
For  who  shall  covet  if  he  once  adore  ? 
Leave  in  our  skies,  strange  Spirit  passing  there, 
No  less  of  vision  but  of  courage  more, 
And  of  our  worship  take  thy  equal  share, 
Thou  who  wouldst  teach  us  hope,  with  her  who  taught 
us  prayer." 


YOUTH'S  IMMORTALITY 

WHAT,  when  hearts  have  met,  shall  sever 

Heart  from  heart,  though  heaven  fall? 
They  alone  are  dead  for  ever 

Who  have  never  lived  at  all. 
Roses  that  have  bloomed  to  sweetness 

Never  can  untimely  fade, 
Blessed  by  death  in  their  completeness 

And  on  beauty's  bosom  laid, 
Garnered  in  the  breast  eternal 

Where  all  noble  joys  are  one, 
Sweet  Elysium,  fair  and  vernal, 

Where  they  mount  who  face  the  sun. 
Happy  he  whom  men  call  lonely, 

Whose  companion  is  the  truth, 
232 


YOUTH'S    IMMORTALITY  233 

And  whose  heart  is  ravished  only 
By  the  world's  immortal  youth. 
Happy  he  whose  single  treasure 

Is  the  infinite  unfurled, 
And  whose  voice  has  caught  the  measure 

Of  the  music  of  the  world. 
When  Death  gathers  up  our  ashes 

And  our  sorry  shades  depart, 
Lo,  Life's  flame,  rekindled,  flashes 

From  another  mortal  heart, 
And  Death  turns  about,  derided 
By  the  Life  he  would  deride. 
Vainly  space  and  time  divided 

What  eternity  allied. 
One  great  hope  guides  all  our  seeing, 

One  pure  heaven  lends  us  light. 
Love  is  still  the  crown  of  being, 
Faith  the  better  part  of  sight. 
The  same  wisdom's  ancient  pages 
Stir  again  the  generous  soul 


234  YOUTH'S    IMMORTALITY 

To  the  mighty  task  of  ages 

Crawling  still  to  reason's  goal. 
The  prophetic  Muse  of  Story 

Sings  her  ancient  legend  o'er, 
And  the  sea,  still  young  and  hoary, 

Chants  along  the  beaten  shore. 
Spring  yet  yields  her  flowery  treasures 

To  the  guiltless  hands  of  boys, 
Chastening  their  noisy  pleasures 

To  the  depth  of  human  joys. 
One  eternal  passion  drives  us, 

Zealots  of  the  stars  above, 
And  our  better  part  survives  us, 

Living  in  the  things  we  love. 


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